


Solid Ground

by OnceUponMyDayDreams



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Finding home, Multi, Natasha-centric, Original Character(s), Red Room, Sick Character, Torture, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7316347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceUponMyDayDreams/pseuds/OnceUponMyDayDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’d never even thought about it, her too conditioned to their doctrine, too afraid. And he, programmed to never even want freedom. But everything changes, and they run, though they weren’t stupid enough to think that they could actually escape. They just needed enough time. She gave birth and he took the baby to a safe place, then they were captured, tortured, and wiped clean. </p><p>Natasha is determined to find her daughter, but she can’t do that being who she is, she needed, needed to be better, someone worthy, someone she could stand to look in the mirror. </p><p>So she builds a new life for herself, and finds friends and love and family. She’s finally at peace with herself, somewhat. </p><p>And then Yasha comes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Disoriented, was her first feeling. There was a ringing in her ears, and at the same time, every sound was muffled. The hall she was walking through, it tilted, her vision swam. This wasn’t right. She was cold, her feet were freezing, and looking down she noticed polished wood under her feet. Where am I? A long hall, with closed doors on each side. The walls were white, and for a moment she thought she was back at the Bolshoi, the mansion with beautiful, shiny floors and creamy walls that radiated warmth, doors and window frames in dark oak… it was very similar, she noticed, and she tried taking a step forward, but everything tilted again -or was it just her eyes playing tricks- and she had to lean against the wall to keep upright. She quickly noticed nothing was really moving, the floor was still, but everything was just out of focus, out of sorts, and there were voices, but the ringing, and the muffled feeling, it just wouldn’t let her focus. 

“FOCUS!” 

She covered her ears, the loud scream breaking through the haze, and she turned around to look who was there, but there was no one, she was still alone.  
She was dreaming, she realized quickly, with a start. I’m dreaming. But… 

And she almost believed it for a second, almost relaxed, if it wasn’t for the smell. Antiseptic, clinical, and she knew then, she knew, they were in her head. 

She started hyperventilating, looking from left to right and seeing the exact same thing, just doors and more doors and she had to focus, there was something very important…

“FOCUS!” 

There was the screaming again, and she now recognized it as her own voice, telling herself to focus. How long had they been at it? It must have been a while, because she couldn’t remember what she needed to focus on. What was so important? Why was she fighting and disobeying? Following the rules always hurt less, literally. But no, focus, keep walking,  
please, don’t forget, keep walking, keep fighting, 1018465195, keep walking, don’t forget, focus. 

Her head hurt so much, her legs were unsteady beneath her, she was so tired, but no, this was important, just please, move, don’t forget. Forget what!!?? 

She listened to the part of herself that seemed to still have some idea of what was happening and moved her legs, leaning heavily against the wall, sliding on it as her wobbly legs moved unsurely. And it was as if someone had beaten her over the head with the butt of a gun, that one single step. She cried out, her hands letting go of the wall and to hold her head, and she slid down the wall onto the floor. She gasped, trying to regulate her breathing and work through the pain, but oh, it was too much, too much. Everything was swimming, the sounds were muffled, and she knew it was because the doctors where talking, maybe to her, maybe to each other, but she was trapped in her own head and she could still hear them. She tried to ignore them, a sense of urgency making her heart beat faster. Move, move, please don’t forget, fight. It was important, whatever it was, she had already forgotten, they must have been at it for far longer than she realized. But it was important, move, move. 

She dragged herself, one hand in front of the other, then pulling her weight with all her might and a groan in pain. She passed one door, closed and she spared a glance at it, but no, that wasn’t the one. She managed to get back on her feet at the second door, using the doorknob for leverage, putting all of her weight on it and worrying she might break it, inhaling and exhaling through gritted teeth and trying to push the pain to the back of her head. She’d been trained to do that since she could remember, but right now, it seemed to be the biggest challenge of her life. I have to make it. It was important. Where am I going? Just one more door. 

It was difficult, she could feel them prodding inside her head, whispering in her ear, to relax, to let go, to relax, that the faster she cooperated, the sooner it would all end. She wanted to give in, she wanted to let go so the pain would stop, just so she could take a breath without moaning in pain. Just one more door. She whimpered when she finally took another step, and feared her legs wouldn’t hold her as she trembled. She leaned against the wall again, and she wanted to stop, felt tears in her eyes her head hurt so much, a hammer to her skull every step she took, but no, please don’t forget. Another step. 

It was a door like all the others, no distinctive feature, just another plain oak door, and she opened it.

The pain disappeared. The voices stopped. Just a ringing in her ears now, and her vision cleared. 1018465195. Solca, June 26th 2009, 11:24pm, 5 lbs 2 oz, 15 inches. 

She was standing in a dingy little motel room, dark and dirty, a carpet that was maybe three shades darker than its original color that felt moldy under her bare feet and she wanted to put some shoes on. She felt lost, and also, oddly, she felt home. She walked inside, the ringing intensifying, and she feared for a moment that the pain would come back, because the further into the room she walked the louder the ringing pressed against her ears, and she thought they might pop. But she was here now, she was here now, and that’s what mattered. 

She stood at the foot of the bed now, and noticed something on the bedside table. She walked over to it quickly and picked it up. It was a little book, about the size of her palm but thick. The ringing persisted, but she knew now, it just meant she was getting closer. She flipped through it and felt her lips form a smile without her permission, seeing little stories, accompanied by soft-colored images, little birds and little kids and clouds and blue skies and the sun, with stories that she realized she knew by heart, for some reason. Photographs spilled out of the pages onto the floor, and she bent down to pick them up and inspect them, but they were blank. No, they weren’t, she could see blur of colors, but the images didn’t come together to make anything coherent. 

The ringing was louder now. She didn’t have a lot of time. She put the book back down and looked around the room. Just a table that didn’t look very stable and two chairs that weren’t much better. The sheets and pillow covers on the bed looked new and clean though, and she could distinctly remember the softness of them against her flushed skin. She frowned, her hand going to her back and she instinctually leaned back against it, jutting her chest out, as if trying to relieve some phantom back pain. Her lips parted in confusion. Where am I? Her ears hurt now. 

She walked around the room, and glanced at the full length mirror by the door, but did a double take and almost tripped on her own feet at the image staring back at her. It wasn’t her standing there in her white medical scrubs, disoriented and looking for answers. No. It was her, standing with a bundle of blankets in her arms. She stared at the mirror, eyes wide and mouth agape. It was her, in black sweatpants and a shirt that was obviously not hers, a man’s maybe, way too big for her, and what she could only imagine was a baby wrapped in white blankets in her arms. 

She chanced a glance down at her physical self, almost afraid that she would still be just in her white scrubs and empty handed, so unbearably empty handed. But no, she looked down and there she was, her baby, looking up at her with wide, curious eyes, tiny and perfect, rosebud mouth and button nose and barely-there light blond hair. 

Natasha felt her whole chest constrict, a flood of emotions rendering her speechless and she was breathless, couldn’t get a breath in or out, could only look into her baby’s eyes and just feel. Feel as everything else crumbled around them because nothing else mattered, and everything came into focus now, everything made sense, and don’t forget 1018465195. Solca, June 26th 2009, 11:24pm, 5 lbs 2 oz, 15 inches 

Ice filled her veins and she clenched her eyes shut and screamed out in pain. 

They wake her up.


	2. Chapter 1

She opened her eyes and stared up at the white ceiling of her cell. She was drenched in sweat and had to wipe away tears from her face. _Another day in paradise_. She thought to herself sarcastically. Another night full of nightmares, or memories, or both, she couldn’t tell. She’d learned to control her reactions to the night terrors the last few months, not wanting more punishment from Madam, but here in her cell in the deepest parts of SHIELD, she allowed herself to relax a bit more, because no matter what they ended up deciding as her fate, she’d done the right thing. Her internal clock told her it was only around 2am. She sighed and closed her eyes again. She wasn’t going to fall asleep again, she was shivering and not from cold, but because she could still feel the electricity rushing through her veins, and could still hear screams echoing in her ears. She stopped herself from letting out a sob.

43 days and she had to remind herself to be patient. Clint Barton had brought her in and Fury blew his top, throwing her in a cell and almost biting Barton’s head off. _Have you lost your goddam mind?! Do I need to tell you how fucking insane this sounds? Best case scenario my ass Agent Barton, best case scenario she doesn’t turn you into minced meat for sheer entertainment!_

He wasn’t wrong. Her reputation proceeded her. Specially in the last few months where she was trying to get their attention. It worked, she was here, and although her current predicament wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned her plans taking her, she couldn’t say she was surprised.

And he’d been watching her like a Hawk, pun intended, not just because Fury said he’d have his head if it turned out he was wrong, but because he himself was making sure he hadn’t misjudged the situation entirely. He hadn’t. But a month and a half wasn’t enough time to convince these people. She hadn’t expected it to be. She needed them though. Not just for their resources, but because she needed, _needed_ to be better, someone worthy. It was difficult to remember why, most of the time, but it was a driving force in her veins. She just knew she couldn’t be that person anymore. She tried to think and it was always the same thing: 1018465195. She hadn’t figured out what it meant yet. As soon as they gave her access to a computer, she would.

In her dreams, she could sometimes remember a time when she was different, when she smiled at someone a lot. She couldn’t really see him, but in her dreams, she could feel him. He was strong, warm, although he had a cooler touch, sometimes. They were faint wisps of memory, hard to grasp once she’d woken up. She wanted to remember, so badly. There was something else, something very important, but she didn’t like to think about that. She suspected it was part of the obscure feeling in her chest. 1018465195

She knew they’d messed with her head, knew the empty spaces and their dates, had worked up a system when she was 15 with scraps of paper and pencils hidden inside her mattress, checking off every day on makeshift calendars and learning how many days they’d taken from her. The longest had been when she’d been 17. Six months. Until recently.

That last time had been different, she’d woken up and she’d immediately realized something was wrong. She’d acted as normal as possible, as if she’d woken up from any other mission, but she could feel it, something in herself had changed monumentally. For one, she’d wanted to cry.

She could feel in her muscles that she’d been beaten, feel in her lungs that they’d used the water mask, feel in her veins that they’d electrocuted her. They knew she could, it was the point. She hadn’t understood why they made her forget her crime, it seemed counterproductive. She’d wake up desperate in the night, feeling shocks in her blood that she knew were not real anymore, and wondered how many times they had electrocuted her that she could still feel it. She’d try to go back to sleep, but she was shivering and unusually afraid, and realized they must have kept her locked up in one of the freezing cells, waiting for punishment, again and again. And she’d fall asleep and wake up sweating and jump out of bed and run around the room looking for something, someone, her body telling her she was supposed to be doing something. She’d choke on her tears and calm herself down, head between her legs and trying to breathe, but the weight in her chest wouldn’t let her inhale properly. _I need to be somewhere_. She’d get her breathing under control and force herself to lay back down, only to wake up with a scream lodged in her throat moments later because she’d seen someone being tortured in front of her, and in her dream, she’d screamed for them to stop. _What is happening!!_ She’d wanted to scream, her emotions were uncharacteristically out of control, and she’d just wanted to cry. She’d curl up and swallow down everything.

And now she did, she allowed herself to sob and full out cry into the darkness, because she could feel it, could feel in her heart that something was missing, and she knew it wasn’t just him, it was something bigger and her heart ached with hollowness and in a place like this where she could relax a bit and let her guard down and her body mellow, she found her arms feeling an empty weight and she’d feel like the ground was shifting underneath her because something is missing...

She’d made it here and the goal was to turn her life around, but her reasons for doing so were so far away from her reach and she let herself cry like she had never been allowed to do so. There were cameras and most likely mics, but that was ok, because there would be no punishment in the morning. Here, she was allowed to be human.

_____________________________________________________________________________

44 days and she’d barely slept all night, as had been the case for the last couple of months, since she woke up from her ‘mission’. She now doubted it had been a mission, she wondered, sometimes, in her rare foolish moments, if she’d tried to escape. That would explain a lot. But she couldn’t have been that stupid! Could she?

Footsteps outside and she sat up, swinging her legs off of the cot and sitting up straight, head held high but she remained seated. She didn’t want to look menacing, just respectful, and knew that in this place, that would be enough to receive respect from them. They were the good guys. She would fight to be one of them, somehow.

It was Nicholas Fury, not Barton today. She’d studied as many of them as she could while mapping out her plan, and all she had of him was his name and position, a couple of mission reports, impressive records. Couldn’t find anything personal on him though. He was the director of SHIELD, the one with all the guns and tricks up his sleeve, tricks he used very well on her for the first week, so well in fact she was almost afraid that she’d made a big mistake.

But he was just testing her, and she must have passed his one-eye scrutiny, because he’d put his gun away, and told her that she answered only to him and Barton, and the moment he smelled something fishy, he´d execute her on the spot.

He was standing in front of her cell now, steel walls behind her and to her right and left, and lasers and metal bars in front of her. He deactivated the laser and the humming stopped. He punched in a code and swiped his card and the bars disappeared into the ceiling. He was alone and he left the bars up, the whole front of the cell wide open. Either he knew he was strong enough to take her down if she tried anything, or he trusted her enough not to try anything. She suspected it was the former.

“The intel you’ve been giving us has worked out so far.” Straight to the point, and she only continued to study him, from the wrinkles of the frown on his forehead to the mild discoloring visible around the eyepatch.

“I believe you when you tell me the reason you defected is because you were done with working for the Red Room. And I get it, we have information and reports from the Red Room and it ain’t a pretty place.” He was so nonchalant while speaking to her, like a principal speaking to a recurring misconduct student. It for some reason, made her feel at ease. “All the info you’ve given us has helped us skip at least 7 years of reconnaissance work, and we’ll be able to bring them down much sooner than we ever dreamed of. And I just know you’ll be itching to be front row when that happens.” He still stood in front of her in the same posture as when he came in, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back, poker face so strong he wasn’t giving anything away. “But my concern is, when we’re done with them, then what? You get our help to bring down your tormentors, then what? You gonna go back to twisting men around your fingers? Killing them in their sleep ‘cause they pissed off your employer? Running in the shadows and scaring little kids?”

She thought maybe he didn’t mean it the way she took it, but it hit home in a way she didn’t know could hurt so much. She wasn’t sure she managed to control her reaction in time, flinching. Did they know of the princess, Dreykov’s firstborn killed in her sleep as punishment for betraying the Red Room? 12 years old. For all her kills and notches under her belt, successful infiltrations, tortures and interrogations, this one was like a constant twisting knife in her gut. She knew it didn’t need any reasoning to see why it was the worst, but even so, it always hit something inside her deeper than she could comprehend. She found herself unable to call forth her impeccable mask, instead clenching her teeth. Could she ever wipe off enough blood to be able to look down at her hands and not see red?

Fury noticed of course, eye narrowing and face creasing. “Tell me, Widow, what is your angle, really.”

She had to calm herself down then, told herself over and over again that if she was going to do this, it had to be real, it couldn’t be a job, no masks, she had walked in here with every intention of changing, for the better, and becoming someone she could stand to look in the mirror. She couldn’t be fake.

“I want to be my own person.”

The resolve in her eyes convinced him.


	3. Chapter 2

_  
__Мы_ _найдем_ _способ_

_She was running through a corridor, cold, polished wood under her bare feet._ _A long hall, with closed doors on each side and white walls. What is this? Why is it so familiar?_ _But it wasn’t real. Go through that door, there._

_Мы_ _найдем_ _способ_

_She couldn’t open the door._

_She could hear them close though, so she kept running. His voice was in her ear, a constant as she ran._

_Мы_ _найдем_ _способ_

_And she was running but she was talking back, somewhere, somewhen._

_Не давайте обещаний, мы не можем держать_

_But he insisted._

_Нет, я найду способ , я буду . Попробуйте отдохнуть_

_He held her tighter and stroked her hair until she fell asleep._

_She was cold now, and she gritted her teeth and cried out when they shocked her again, kneeling on a cold, concrete floor that scrapped her knees raw, hands tied behind her back and she could see them, she could always see them, but they put a blindfold on her all of a sudden and then she was drowning, struggling against hands that held her down and she screamed into the water._

_Нет_ _!!_

_It wasn’t her screaming, because she was coughing and chocking and trying to breathe, eyes clenched shut as her lungs struggled and she coughed roughly, but he was screaming behind her, even though they both knew it was no use, even though they both knew, it would only make it worse._

_остановись_ _!!_

_The blindfold was gone, and she screamed when she saw him. Two handlers held her back as she fought and kicked and punched, but she was too weak, her body spent from weeks of endless torture, and now she fought hard and they held her back and bruised her arms and wrists further with their brutal force. But she continued to kick and fight…_

_Стоп_ _!!_

_Madam slapped her so hard she spat out blood and stopped struggling immediately, and could do nothing but look up at her with wide, fearful eyes, as if she was four again and had stepped out of line. She had. The older woman grabbed her face roughly, squishing it with one hand and digging her nails in for good measure as she directed her to look at him, in the chair, and hold still as his screams reverberated through the room._

 

She woke up with a scream, shooting straight up in bed, shaking and shivering despite the warm temperature of the room. It took her all but five seconds to recognize her surroundings, and she could suddenly breathe, panting and trying to get air into her lungs, moaning when she felt that phantom pain in her chest from inhaling too much water. It wasn’t real anymore, but it was still too fresh in her mind.

She was trembling so bad her breath was stuttering, and she slowly made her way out bed, hoping the solid ground under her feet would help. It did. She wiggled her toes in the soft carpet and felt her body slowly coming back to her, her muscles relax one by one. _Мы_ _найдем_ _способ_

Tears sprang to her eyes as his voice echoed in her head. _We will find a way_.

She now knew without a doubt that they’d escaped, or at least tried to. He was so warm and comforting, his voice so soothing she could sleep again just remembering it, but her eyes snapped back open and her back went rigid at the mare thought of going back to sleep, going back to that.

She was breathing normally now, her heart just a bit faster than normal, still settling, and she let out a long breath, rolling her shoulders back, pushing away the memories of the pain in her arms from having her hands tied behind her for so long.

Memories, they were definitely that. No nightmare could feel so real, shake her so deep, and explain everything at the same time. It had been the longest one so far, that she had woken up and recalled every detail, and not forgotten again. It was slowly coming back to her, and slowly starting to make sense. Well more or less. So far she knew she’d loved this man, and he’d loved her back, dearly, and they’d tried to run, but probably didn’t make it far, and had been tortured for their insolence, then wiped clean of each other.

It was perfectly calculable, really, except she could not for the life of her understand why they would do something so stupid! Did we really think, for one second, that we would make it?

It didn’t dawn on her that she’d stopped thinking _I_ in favor of _we_. 

_Мы_ _найдем_ _способ_

Why? Why had they done that?

She sighed and rubbed her face clean of cold sweat, brushing her hair back with her fingers. She couldn’t recall yet, why they’d made that stupid decision, and knew that since her memories seemed to come back clearer in her deep sleep, her best bet was to lay back down and relax. But oh, it was too much. A shiver wrecked her body at the thought of remembering more of the torture, even if it brought some answers. She looked to her nightstand and saw the digital clock blinking 5:10 am. A perfect excuse to not try again, for tonight.

It was so strange though, that she was remembering anything at all. For all the times that they’d sent her into missions with altered memories or very sensitive mission objectives, every time she’d woken up in the med-area, feeling as if she’d had a restless sleep, she’d walked out completely normally. And she’d been 14 the first time, hadn’t started her system of figuring out how much time she was missing until 15, and her longest mission when she was 17. Not once, not once had she remembered anything, not a drop of recognition, not a dream or a nightmare or anything at all. She didn’t understand why this time, things were slipping through the cracks, Cracks that were there from the moment she woke up, and had only widened and widened until just now, she’d remembered a whole moment, without interruption.

It was unsettling to say the least. She wondered if she’d just loved him that much. But again, there was that something else, tugging at her heart.

She shook herself of those thoughts, feeling her mind overcrowd with images and wanting just a moment of peace. She pressed a button by the bed and the curtains slid open.

She stood up and moved until she was by the window and looked out at the city, at the waters of the Potomac, at the multicolored sky and rising sun. Three months and eleven days since she was brought into SHIELD. It felt as if there was a clock ticking in her chest, counting down. With every moment that she spent here comfortable and - for all intents and purposes- safe, she felt the weight that had taken place in her heart months ago grow heavier and heavier. She wished she could remember why.  

Yesterday one of the STRIKE teams had left on the third mission to bring down the threat of the Red Room. Fury hadn’t let her go with the team, and it angered her, but not at him, at _them_. She understood. It was the same reason she was still confined to the premises, and wasn’t allowed to answer any phones or read any files or listen to any recordings of any kind. Her brain was filled with triggers. Triggers were specific and never accidental. Triggers that ranged from shutting her down to making her follow an order mindlessly to unhinging her mind so completely she could go into a killing frenzy to wiping her of the last 24 hours… too many to count.

_It’s not only for the safety of my men and women, but for your own._ Fury had made it a point to show that he was starting to consider her too. She was sure he didn’t express himself to his own agents much.  

Unfortunately, the problem didn’t end there. The girls had been lent to other organizations regularly, not to mention the scientists (butchers, Barton had mumbled under his breath) who had engineered the triggers in the first place where from all around, had been Hydra in the old days, then maybe KGB, and a few were of the Red Room exclusively. Consequently, it was unknown exactly who else had her triggers.            

So she couldn’t go anywhere, help in any other way than lend some information on a case, and continue to brief them on everything she knew or could remember from her time with them, including other organizations they worked with, or were enemies with. Day in and day out, in a small space with a bed and a small desk and chair against a wall, but with a huge window with a beautiful view -Fury had assured her, she wasn’t a prisoner anymore, though she was still under surveillance- and thankfully, a private bathroom, something she couldn’t remember ever having. It was just a toilet and a sink pushed together, with barely enough space for a square shower stall, but only she used it, without needing permission or a schedule, and she loved it.

Barton tried to be around a lot, visiting her quarters and sparing with her at the gym and taking her around the cafeteria and gardens of the Triskelion – only places that didn’t need any clearance. Still, it was better than being in her quarters all day. But lately it hadn’t been just to keep an eye on her, she’d realized. He wanted to keep her company. She hadn’t known what to do with the revelation the first time. She’d stared at him for a few seconds more than considered normal as she tried to figure out her next course of action. She knew what it meant, she’d read about it and had been taught and had even acted it on missions, but this time it was happening to her in real life. And she hadn’t known how to answer to that basic human sentiment without putting on a mask. She’d shut off and told him to leave.

He’d nodded, following her request and heading towards the door, but not before saying “You came here for a fresh start. You don’t need to be anyone but yourself.”

She’d laughed hysterically and then sobbed into the darkness that night because she was in a place where she could rebuild herself, be someone new, someone worthy, and she didn’t know how she could do that, how she could shed the masks and skins and be herself. Specially with so much crap in her head, with so many ‘modifications’ and ‘programs’, she sometimes wondered if she was where she was by her own will. That thought scared her more than anything else in the world.  

She had been here for three months and almost all of her energy had gone towards helping them bring down the Red Room and their associates, but she’d been away from them and their rigid rules and codes for so long she’d also had time and space to 'find herself', but the problem was that she had found nothing. Just... nothing.

She was nothing. Just a weapon. Hadn't been allowed to have her own thoughts ever in her life. Her first memory was of refusing, and being beaten down for it. And many of her earliest memories consisted of that, of her pushing back, and them crushing her in return, of them ripping out any of her personality that had developed at such a young age, and them starting to mold their own thing in the empty shell they left of her.

And then there were the dreams, the memories that were coming back to her slowly of a time not too long ago, a time where she unheeded her superiors and actually _ran away_. She’d been captured, but she’d continued to fight back, she’d seen herself do it in her dream and couldn’t believe it was her kicking her handlers. She’d planned an escape and she’d gotten herself captured by the organization her handlers hated the most. She couldn’t fathom the idea but there is was, and here she was, in the protection of what was supposed to be her enemy. Therefore, she knew there was more to herself than all they’d trained her to be. Something amazing and vibrant in her subconscious -or forgotten past- had brought her here and she would see it through.

So maybe she didn’t know or just couldn't remember who she was, the kind of person she was supposed to grow up to be. She was strong-willed, that's all she could tell, from how she tried to resist at first and that she, one way or another, had finally survived.

She decided to start with that, and stick to that. Keep surviving, somehow. In the real world, one needed allies to do that.

She started that next day, when Barton came back, she gave him a small smile, one that might have looked more like a smirk than she intended, but he understood how hard she was trying, and smiled brightly in return.

“Wanna see something funny?” His eyes were mischievous as she followed him.

He showed her an empty hallway and she watched as he jumped into a vent in the ceiling without so much as a push, then pulled her up with him. It scared her how much he trusted her, showing her this path to probably the whole building.

They crawled quietly and came upon the gym, where Rumlow - a guy Clint had shown his extreme dislike of and warned her never to turn her back on- was working out, and found herself stifling real laughter when he started lifting weights and making the most ridiculous noises, grunts and moans and Clint was biting his own knuckles to not make any sound while watching her, and she could tell he was pleased with himself that he’d made her laugh. After all, he’d been watching her sulk for three months. He was showing her now that she could be someone different.

She suddenly realized he wasn’t going to be her ally, he was going to be her friend. She vowed then and there to never let him down. He’d saved her life in more ways than she could count.

  

* * *

 

 

The STRIKE team returned that night, and Fury barged into her quarters, a tablet in his hand, a sense of urgency in his step.

“The mission was a success, they brought back more files for you to look through with Agent Barton, but I need your help with something else right now.” He spoke with such authority and calmness, his mere presence in the room garnered respect from anyone, and she was on her feet the next second, looking at the info he had brought her on the tablet. He put it down on the small desk so he could see what she saw and watch her, study her for any reactions. She’d told him that triggers were rarely accidental, but he always said better safe than sorry.

There was a picture of a man on the tablet, name, birthplace and birthdate, known organizations he linked to and associates. Ivan Petrovich Bezukhov. Her blood boiled. She crossed her arms despite herself in a defensive posture.

“What about him?” Her tone was harsh and she didn’t bother to hide it.

Fury tapped on the screen and showed her the diagram she had drawn them her first few days in her cell of the people at the Red Room, and Ivan was directly under Pchelintsov, the man that had evaded them since the first raid of the Red Room and Department X facilities. Many of the founders were long dead, and Madam had shot herself in the first raid a week ago, rather than be captured and interrogated. How original. The main scientist, Pchelintsov, was still in the wind, while most of the handlers had been captured, but not before they killed the girls. There’d been only four left, counting Natasha, and they killed them on the second raid just before they were arrested. They were now getting closer to Department X and hopefully getting rid of the whole program.

“We caught him.” She looked up at Fury when he spoke, pleased and surprised at the same time, and she had a feeling where this was going. “And I’m guessing he knows where our evil scientist is.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. She knew what he was going to ask, but it was too dangerous. “He knows most of the triggers.”

Fury nodded. “We’ll have people right outside ready to sedate you both if anything looks remotely out of place.”

She still looked uncertain. She would like nothing more than a chance to get back at Ivan, even if just a little bit, but he knew her too well, knew her inside and out, he didn’t need a trigger to bring her to her knees. He scared her, even now, and she hated that feeling. She wasn’t in their clutches anymore!

Fury sensed her hesitation and turned to her, facing her completely. “This can’t be easy on you, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned is that when something has the potential to compromise you,” He paused for effect, looking her straight in the eye. “You kick it in the teeth.”

She couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at her lips, uncrossing her arms and picking up the tablet. She felt sure of herself and her strength, she knew where her skills were. She was someone new, but her training was carved into her bones now, and it was something she knew would always be of good use to her.

“When?”

They were down in the cells in the next 15 minutes, and Clint had joined them, a protest on the tip of his tongue. But he kept silent and only watched her. He trusted her to make her own decisions, but promised her he’d be watching the monitors and wouldn’t let the bastard get away with anything. She gave him a rare, genuine smile.

She was at the door, ready to go in, but stopped. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She was not under his control any longer, she was her own person now, and he couldn’t punish her. She’d done nothing wrong. It was her turn.

She went in.

This cell was different, it was a concrete square with a steal door and cameras all around.  He was tied to a chair in the middle of the room and he looked up when he heard someone enter, a shocked look on his face before he laughed.

She closed the door and moved closer to him, slowly but surely, letting him laugh it out.

“They told me you had escaped again, but I didn’t believe them! I swore you’d been captured!” His accent was heavy, dripping with their mother tongue. “You were always so obedient; I couldn’t believe you’d tried in the first place. But I guess, third time’s a charm.”

Third time? She controlled her reaction expertly. He didn’t need to know how much that revelation twisted her gut. Third time. He rambled on. Ivan did like to talk.

“What are you doing here, playing hero? Чёрная Вдова, you do not belong here.”

“No, not yet.”

He laughed even harder at her response. At least he wouldn’t take her for a fool, and keep pretending they’d been the good guys. This should be easier to work with.

“Ooooh, Tashia, you never seize to amuse me.” She still stood calmly before him, hands at her sides, dressed in plain SHIELD garb, black tactical pants and boots, a white T-Shirt with the Shield eagle on the shoulder, and a holster they’d just given her with a knife and a gun, all she’d asked for before coming in here. All she’ll need, if she played her cards right. “And will you torture me then? Slice and dice like we taught you? Do you really think my own tricks will work?” His eyes were condescending now, a sneer on his lips.

“Yes.” Not really no, but he didn’t need to know what she was planning. 

His gaze turned malicious, his sinister smile now baring his lips. “Oh Tashia, I’d rather you didn’t. We both know how this will end.” No, she was strong, and wouldn’t let him pull her under. “Be good.”

“No.”

His right eye twitched ever so slightly.

“Tashia,”

“No.”

He was getting angry, as she knew he would. He absolutely hated it when she denied him.

She remembered her earliest memory clearly, so clear she could almost smell and feel the stink of urine and blood. A dark room, gloomy with soft lightning and a red hue. Ivan crouched low to be the same height as her, but she still had to look up, she was still barely a toddler. His big hand was grabbing onto her tiny forearm tightly, keeping her from retreating any further into her favorite corner, but she kept trying to pull away, sobbing and crying out and trying to step back to her corner, away from him, from all of them. He promised her a treat if she cooperated, if she followed the older girls into the other dark room. She hid her face behind her red curls and the white of her oversized shirt and he gripped her harder, shook her roughly and she cried louder. He told her to shut up or he would hurt her for real. She peed herself, he shoved her hard against her favorite corner. Blood flooded her mouth, she lost her first baby tooth with the impact against the wall. 

And any other time after that, if she so much as gave him a defiant look, he would rain his rage down on her. It’d started with a slap, a shove, a fist, a whipping, a night in the freezing concrete cells, an extra hour of resistance training. But she was a fast learner and very smart, and very resilient, and pretty, and he’d found other ways to put her in her place. Those worked so well, he’d subjected her to a routine of them until she’d been 15 and Madam had put a stop to it, something about damaged goods if he kept going at the rate he was. He’d seethed, arguing that she needed discipline. Madam said that she was already scared enough of him, and that would do to keep her in place. He’d just been angry she’d taken his favorite toy. It was probably the only thing she’d ever be thankful to Madam for.

Right now was no different, she could see the boiling rage in his eyes. She hadn’t denied him since she was nine and he’d made her take him in her tiny mouth the first time. He was restrained and couldn’t lash out at her, so he used that sickly sweet voice he reserved for the times he made her bleed and crawl back to her room.   

“Tashia, be good to daddy, and daddy would be good to you.” His eyes reflected the consequences there would be otherwise. She repressed the urge to crumble and kneel and heed. She drew strength from the place around her. She wasn’t the prisoner anymore, he was. She was in control now.

_You’re so much stronger than he could ever hope to be_. Yasha had told her once, in English.

Yasha, she realized with a start, her eyes widening. _His name is Yasha._

Ivan took her shudder for fear of him and his disgusting smirk was back. “I am sure we can work something out, sweet one.” She made a face, as if he was winning and she was crumbling, and could hear commotion outside. She needed to move quick unless they came in and got her, thinking he’d compromised her.

She took a cautious step towards him, swallowing hard, and looking down a little, acting uncertain and he fell for it. “That’s a good girl, come Tashia.” She got another step in and her legs brushed his knees and she shuddered for real this time. He chuckled lowly and throaty. She lashed out before she lost her nerve.

The knife that had been at her hip was embedded in his eye the next second and his scream tore through the calm cell. The commotion outside stopped immediately. Ivan kept screaming. “Oh, I’m sorry daddy.” She faked her voice into a scared little girl, the voice she knew he loved to hear from her. He screamed louder, enraged and in excruciating pain. She waited for a few more seconds before leaning over him and pulling out the knife and covering the wound with one hand to somewhat stop the bleeding. “I’m sorry.” She even let out a sob and he opened his good eye with great effort and snarled at her.

“You bitch! You will pay for this! I’ll make sure of it!!”

She cried, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she pleaded. “No! I’m sorry, I’ll be good!”  

He looked dumfounded for a moment, watching her cry as she did when she begged him to not punish her. “I’m sorry! I’ll let you look!” She used to do that, strip and make a show of it and anything so that he wouldn’t take her again. “Please!”

She looked into his good eye and made sure he followed her hand not occupied with covering his gouged out eye as she reached for the hem of her shirt and lifted it slightly, just enough so he could see her flat belly, creamy skin and belly button before she let go and reached for the knife again, and held the tip right at his good eye.

“I promise, I’ll let you look.” He held his breath as the tip of the knife hovered at his eyeball. “If you tell me where Pchelintsov is, I promise I’ll let you look.”

He got some of his bearings back, breathing in again and panting. “I am your handler, stupid girl! I will not fall for you tricks!!” He screamed in her face and struggled a little under her, but her hold on his bad eye now served to make him cry out in renewed pain.

She cried inconsolably, her shoulders shaking and breath hitching. The confusion on his face was almost comical, if not for the blood gushing down his face. “But daddy, please!” She let go of the knife and the gun was in her hand next holding it up to his face and he gave her a hard look.

“I will not fear you, stupid girl!”

More tears gathered in her eyes and just when he was starting to pull himself together and out of her spell, she softly pressed the gun to his lips, and his eyes went as big as saucers. He clamped his lips shut but it was too late, the barrel of the gun was already in, and he made an undignified sound, trying to back away from it. She stepped closer to him, drawing strength from within herself now. _You’re so much stronger than he could ever hope to be_. He was almost sobbing as she straddled him, legs on either side of him but holding herself up so they weren’t actually touching, but he could feel her closeness and see her above him and he squirmed and yelped when she thrust the gun in until it touched the back of his throat. He was panting and terrified now, frantic eye darting from her eyes to her hand and what he could see of the gun and he squirmed trying to get away. She gently pulled it out to the tip and thrust it back in and he screamed, muffled by the gun and jerking so hard underneath her he would have thrown her off if he wasn’t restrained, scared shitless and she felt satisfaction bloom in her chest.

“How about it daddy.” He was sweating and trembling like a leaf, looking back at her with one terrified eye. He screamed louder and almost fainted when she pulled the gun back again and thrust it back in. “Where’s Pchelintsov?”

He found some semblance of control in himself and jerked his head no. She’d stopped the tears, looking at him with a satisfied smile on her face as she pulled the gun out of his mouth and he groaned and panted, sweat dripping from his chin as his chest rose and fell harshly. “Ok, daddy, but if you make me do this, it won’t be much fun for us, ever again.” Her sweet voice was lulling and he watched her closely, trying to predict her next move.

She slowly pressed the gun to his neck, then pulled herself back a little, taking her hand off of his bleeding eye and switching hands on the gun. Bloody hand holding the gun now, she reached down with her other hand and once again made sure he was following her every move as she teasingly lifted her shirt, all the way up to her ribs, and left it there, giving him a good view of her entire mid-section, lean and creamy hips and tummy, and she slowly slid the gun down his chest and stomach with her other hand. He followed her hand on her body as if in a trance, the only relieve to the pain and anxiety, and she pushed all thoughts away and reminded herself, she was in control. “Not much fun at all, daddy.” She said as she caressed her tummy and the gun reached his genitals.

His eye shut up to hers in shock and she cocked the gun, ready to fire and he screamed Pchelintsov location.

 

* * *

 

 

Clint came to her quarters with dinner in a tray from the cafeteria, and she let him in and he set down the food on the desk. She was quiet, looking out the window again. It had felt so natural, to slip back into that person, to be dark and manipulative, even if he’d deserved every second of it, and more. She’d felt as if she’d lost herself, for a second. Herself. Who she was trying to be. Maybe she could be both, separate them, the job from her real life. Her real life? Her real self.

“You told me I didn’t need to be anyone but myself.” She didn’t turn away from the window, but Clint payed attention anyway, sitting on the chair by her desk behind her, a soothing presence, if she ever needed one.

“Yeah.” He answered softly.

She turned to him slowly, an almost vulnerable look in her eyes. She trusted him so much, him more than Fury. He’d saved her. “But that woman down there, she’s me, too.” It was such a disturbing thought.

Clint nodded slowly, giving her a sympathetic look. “Yeah.” She looked down, disconcerted. “But that’s not a bad thing.” She wasn’t so sure.

He stood up, reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders in a comforting gesture. “We can never be all clean. Not after everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done.” She grimaced, because she knew he was right. “But those parts of us are what help us do good. We take terrible things we were taught and twist it to mean the opposite. The dark part of us is what reminds us to do good.” She looked up at him and at his earnest expression, trying to teach her what he’d worked hard to learn himself. “We know what’s out there because we’ve been part of it, but it also means we know how to defeat it.”

It made her feel better, it really did. She had so much darkness, but she wasn’t in it anymore, and she would use her knowledge to defeat it.    

“You’re not what they made you to be. You weren’t supposed to use your skills to do what you just did. You’re already showing them they can’t control you. And as soon as we get Pchelintsov we’ll get those triggers out and you’ll be kicking ass.” She chuckled lightly, a small smile on her lips. “Well, more ass, ‘cause you sure did today.” Her smile grew, and he smiled back at her, meeting her eyes and the mirth and kindness in his helped her relax. He slowly pulled her into a hug and she let him, even as she kept her hands at her sides.

But it was much more complicated than that. She frowned even as he held her and felt a headache coming on. “You told me I didn’t need to be anyone but myself, but sometime I’m not sure who that is.” She confessed softly, in his arms with her forehead against his shoulder and his hands rubbing soothingly at her back. She was a little afraid of what his response might be, but quickly found she needn’t have been.

“Would you let me help you find out?”

She nodded eagerly and hugged him back, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly.

  

* * *

 

 

_Больше_ _!!_

_He was pushing her, pushing her, and she was tired, panting and covered in sweat, but he wouldn’t let up. He worked her harder than all the other ones._ _Больше_ _!!_ _She groaned and kicked higher and harder, but he still caught her and shoved her back, so hard this time that she landed on her back with a hard thud._

_Встаньте_ _!_

_She didn’t understand what she was doing wrong, but she got up and tried again anyway. This time she got it right, and she tried to hide her smile, they could be watching. He was smirking as well._

_Yasha, he was on his stomach besides her on the roof of the building, guiding her movements as she held the sniper rifle steady. Only one man was the target but Ivan had gone along on the mission and was in her line of sight. He knew that if she took that shot they would kill her on the spot._ _You’re so much stronger than he could ever hope to be. English rolled off his tongue as if he was made for it, unlike Russian._

_He’d taken her to bed for the first time that night and showed her a tenderness and gentle touch she never knew could be. He’d held her and touched her and she’d moaned and writhed and then he’d moved deep inside of her and she’d been with her back pressed tightly to his chest and their sweaty bodies sliding against each other, and she whimpered into her hand, his arms wrapped tight around her, one caressing her breast and the cold one between her legs made her cry out. He’d stopped, deep inside of her and she’d moaned in protest. He gently moved her hand away and shushed her with his own mouth, holding her face to him with his right hand. Her neck was twisted almost uncomfortably to meet his kiss but she didn’t care as he started to move again, his long, deep thrusts pushing the breath out of her in soft little cries into his mouth and she reached behind her with one hand to his neck to keep him pressed against her, the other gripping the cold hand between her legs and she was bending forward with the force of the pleasure and her whimpers, but he kept them upright on their knees, thrusting a little harder and she gripped his hair at the back of his neck and he buried his hand in her red curls and pulled her mouth harder to his and his hot breath panted against her lips when they couldn’t keep up the kiss anymore._

_Не давайте обещаний, мы не_ _можем держать_

_They were on a road, in a car, she was holding a gun and looking behind her at the black van following them. He screamed at her to wait, driving like a mad_ _man and veering them away from the gunfire. She ignored him and rolled down the window, before twisting half of her body out the car. It was more difficult than usual, her midsection feeling heavy and round, but she managed and shot out the pursuing vehicle’s tires._

_He was sleeping, and she was sitting on the bed, looking at the duffle bag on the floor, thinking about leaving and protecting him, but her things were in their bag, and there was only one bag, and that was her excuse tonight to climb back under the covers and ignore her logical mind. She cuddled up to his side and he pulled her in tight, his warm embrace lulling her back to sleep._  

Natasha opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, consciousness slowly coming back to her. It was still early, and she was breathing peacefully. She couldn’t move. She felt so… serene. It was the first time in months she’d woken up without feeling like she’d rather never go back to sleep. She could still feel the peace and warmth she had in his arms, the soft sheets around her bare skin, his strong arms helping her believe, for that one moment, that they were safe. If just for a moment.  

It was beautiful, and she breathed in deeply, closing her eyes again and soaking in the memory that was him. She missed him, she knew she did, even if for a time she didn’t know what it was that she was feeling, she knew now it was this man. And there was fear and despair and pain, they were weighed down by it, as she still was now with that heavy weigh in her chest that she knew she was coming close to figuring out. But in that moment, everything was calm, even the night felt peaceful. Now she stayed in bed until the sun rose, keeping the memory alive for as long as she could.   

 


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, it took me so long to update, but I started University, and I don't have as much time. I'll try to have the next one up soon. Please leave your thoughts and opinions!

_Running through a dirty street with a gun clenched tightly in one hand, her other on her stomach. She felt heavy, off-kilter, but she ran as fast as she could, fleeing from someone. She was already breathless, even though she knew she hadn’t been running that long. She was panting and her lower back ached so, so much, with every hard step to the pavement she felt it shoot up her spine and she clenched her teeth and held her midsection tighter and ran faster._

_Оставайся здесь_

_She had flirted with the guy for most of the night, and had slipped the powder into his drink just a few minutes before he asked her if she wanted to join him in his hotel room. She gave him a coy look and lowered her voice to that sexy throaty tone she knew drove men wild, and said she couldn’t wait. He’d taken her against a wall in the hallway of the offices, and she’d moaned and clawed at his back theatrically and used every trick to get him off fast. Afterwards, still high from his orgasm and what she’d slipped into his drink, he answered all her questions, given her all the passwords while sprawled out on the floor groaning in pain at his headache, soaked in sweat but not just from their activities, complaining about the pain and cooperating less and less. She was still half-naked, panties somewhere on the floor and dress pushed down bearing her breasts, and she’d straddled his chest and leaned forward so her breasts and her scent surrounded him. He answered the rest of her questions pretty quickly after that, dazed from the drug and her. She stood up and redressed herself as Yasha appeared from the shadows, pulling the man to his feet and walking him -dragging him- to the guarded door. He helped them gain access and Yasha snapped his neck, viciously, his right arm bulging and his left whirring with the force he used, pure anger rolling off of him and the guy’s head was almost ripped from his body completely, the loud crack and squish grotesque and the loud thump of his body hitting the floor was more than she’d expected, and she stared at Yasha with and arched eyebrow. He looked up at her and his eyes were filled with rage for another moment before he looked down at the mess he’d made and looked back up at her with a bit of shame at his outburst._

_Нет пожалуйста_

_He was holding her again, tighter this time, and she was crying, sobbing. Begging._

_Пожалуйста_

_He glanced at her behind him and made sure she was following his rapid pace and they continued down the busy market street, her hand held tightly in his as they tried to get lost in the swarm of people._

_Больше!!_

_She showed a perfectly passive face, but oh, she wanted to slap him._

_Больше!!_

_She panted, clenching her fists and launching herself at him again. He had her in a head lock in 12 seconds. She was mad. She nearly growled as she attacked him again. She ended up on her back. She was back on her feet in a split second, stance ready to continue, but he just huffed and turned away. She seethed in anger. She knew her worth, knew she was better than all the other girls, that she impressed Madam day in and day out, that she was sent on more missions than anyone, that she was the best, the Black Widow, and he just huffed and turned away from her?_

_She growled and launched herself at him, a punch this time, but he turned around and caught her fist, and she went with her other fist while simultaneously aiming a kick for his knees, but he caught that fist with his gloved hand before swinging her feet out from under her and she landed hard on her side, a groan of surprise leaving her. He looked down at her one more time before simply walking away. She hated him._

_She could barely open her eyes, she was exhausted, weary down to her bones, and cold, freezing cold, the hard concrete under her unforgiving and she was shivering, her hair and shirt still a bit damp from the latest bout of attempted drowning. She was hungry, her gut twisting, her hands clammy and she wanted to sleep so bad, just a little, please, but every sound and step outside made her jump, startle and tremble. She dreaded their return. She knew this is what was going to be waiting for her the moment they decided to flee. She knew then too, that they wouldn’t kill her. She was too valuable. She’d expected this, being tortured to the brink of insanity, before being wiped. And so she committed her every conscious second to remembering, and focused on not forgetting. There was one consolation through it all. 1018465195. They hadn’t found out._

_Это глупо. He ignored her and told her to stand a little more to the left. это опасно. She insisted. He did too: Нет, если ваше лицо не показывает. She rolled her eyes and complied, but almost changed her mind when he said it’d look better if she pulled her hair up. She gave him an exasperated look, but he returned it with pale, yet bright blue eyes and she gave in, pulling her long curls up and once again standing where he told her to. She still thought it was silly, if not downright careless on their part, and useless, but she indulged him, as much as herself, sighing at her dark thoughts and she brought her hands down to caress her belly. He snapped the picture._

_He was strapped to that fucking chair again, screaming through clenched teeth and the mouth guard, and she was limp in the handler’s arms, watching powerlessly. Everything shifted again, making her dizzy. They hung her tied wrists from a hook in the ceiling in front of him and soaked her with ice cold water and she screamed loudly and helplessly when they used the electric baton again on the bared skin of her stomach, her stomach, that was perfectly lean and hard muscle and tight skin, and no sign of any change whatsoever. Their fucked up serum was good for something at least. She tried to double over in pain as she shrieked but her toes could barely touch the ground._

_Посмотри, что ты наделал! One of the handlers was yelling at Yasha as he whipped her with a metal wire until stripes of blood were covering her back. Yasha screeched, struggling against his restrains and cried as he watched her scream._

She woke up half off the bed, disconcerted and cold. She was on her stomach, her right arm and leg were hanging off the bed uncomfortably and she was an inch away from falling off. She sat up quickly, arms scrambling to push her up on the mattress until she was upright on her knees and she looked around the darkened room startled. Never in her life had she woken up on her stomach. Never. It was the most vulnerable position anyone could ever be in, especially asleep, and she’d never felt safe enough in her life to let go like that in sleep. Her back ached with phantom pains, sharp pains she knew weren’t there anymore, not even a scar from the whipping. That was probably why she’d woken up in such a strange position. Probably how she’d slept in her cell afterwards. She sighed, calming herself down, breathing in and out slowly. She was so tired, so tired of this. She was grateful that she was remembering more and more, but she’d had probably one good night’s sleep since she woke up all those months ago. She was exhausted.

Wearily, she lay back down, her back to the mattress this time. She was covered in sweat again, and thought about getting up and changing the sheets, for the third time this week. But she couldn’t really be bothered. She was too tired.

As per usual, she went through her dreams - nay, her memories- , analyzing them. She’d put so many pieces together already. She hadn’t liked him very much at first, but then, something had changed. He was so sweet, trying. Gentle. She’d been so hardheaded, and cold, brainwashed, like him. But somehow, together they found out they were people, not just weapons to be used and discarded.

She felt herself choke up, a knot in her throat forming, but she gritted her teeth and pushed it down. She was sick and tired of crying. And she remembered him holding her, and he cried too, and they reassured each other that it was all right, they were allowed. It was human. They were human. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself, she could cry.

Given the circumstances, it was pretty hard not to. Every single day she woke up with terrifying images behind her eyes, mixed with sweet moments but no context, of smiles and warm embraces, and then worrying tears because something terrible happened, something that makes her heart ache like an open wound, but she can’t remember what! Can’t remember what is it that they both were so heartbroken over, and she tries and tries to remember but it just feels like it slips through her fingers. Then again, she can feel it, can feel it in her veins, powerful and constant, in her body, in her heart, but she closes her eyes and shakes her head. It’s not possible, it must be something else, it can’t be. The Red Room made sure of it. She won’t think that, she won’t believe in something impossible. It wasn’t, it wasn’t possible, it must be something else.

She needed to find him, find out who he was, what happened to him, if he was still alive… If he hadn’t been killed because of her, of them. God! What had she been thinking! She couldn’t believe she’d been that stupid, did she really think they wouldn’t get caught!? They must have killed him, if not for his own treachery, then just because he meant so much to her.

The Red Room always made sure the girls understood that feelings were a weakness, something that could get you killed, a nuisance at best, a weapon against you at worst. The trainers were ruthless and cruel, Madam was the most sadistic woman she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting, and the girls saw each other as simple opponents, in the way of their own grandeur, just someone else they would kill on the mat soon. So there was no warmth in the Red Room, no one knew what it meant and no one cared to know either. Yasha was like that, at the beginning. She hadn’t figured out yet what had changed.

Or what had possessed her to even remotely care about him, or him her, she wasn’t exactly a nice person, you didn’t get into Madam’s good-girl-book by being nice!

She really couldn’t figure it out, really couldn’t make any sense of it.

But oh, oh she could feel his arms around her, so warm and strong, a comfort in a world of pain, and his voice, firm but gentle and teasing sometimes with jokes that made her giggle like those girls in the films they made them watch. She could still feel how much he loved her, and she curled up on her side and cried, because she fucking missed someone she couldn’t even remember. So really, she did understand.

There was more though, a stronger love, such an intense feeling between them that her heart clenched with it, a craving. Her arms suddenly felt empty and she wailed into her pillow, clenching her hands around it because they wanted to hold something and it wasn’t there anymore and she cried harder, hiccupping sobs into the pillow that were never-ending because her fucking soul felt hollow, a piece missing, and fuck! She would not believe it, she wouldn’t! She really didn’t think she could survive it if she allowed herself to.

She hugged the pillow tight and for a mere second let herself imagine it, let out another sob but let herself go there in her head. She breathed in sharply and startled when an image flashed in her mind, she saw him, them, on a bed, she had her hands in his hair brushing gently while he lay his head near her stomach, humming softly.

She snapped her eyes open and stared at the empty space besides her for a moment. Oh my God, that was the first time she saw a memory while being awake! She saw him! Well, the top of his head, but still, it was clear, a whole clear image, and his hair was dark, almost pitch black, and a bit on the long side. She’d seen something while awake! A real memory, while wide awake. She was stunned. This was huge, she still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to break their programming, but the walls were crumbling more and more, and it both scared and elated her.

And cue the headache, she thought solemnly as she pushed her finger against her temples, trying to ease some of the throbbing slowly gathering there, always present when she went around and around in her head. She knew it wasn’t a normal headache, it was a deep ache, brought on by her looking too far. Well, maybe for today, she’ll give it a rest.

She got out of bed and into the shower and proceeded to take as much time as she damn well pleased, with hot water too, until her fingers were wrinkled and she shampooed and rinsed her hair twice, then massaged her scalp while conditioning and took her time, all while in a warm cocoon of steam and running hot water with prefect pressure. It helped her relax, unwind some of the tense muscles in her back, and escape her own head for a while, making the ache dissipate. She felt her muscles unwind and her body relax and she smiled, because she loved this. In moments like this, she felt truly free.

_____________________________________________________________

Clint is standing right beside her, arms crossed and brushing against her own, and she’s never felt more comfortable with someone so close to her personal space, save for Yasha. He makes her feel safe.

And in a room full of strangers that she’s supposed to be trusting now, he’s her touchstone. She can’t remember ever feeling so out of sorts, but she’s never had her own mind and made her own decision either. It’s also the first time she’s seen so many people involved in a mission. There are two tacticians and Clint and herself. There’s also this guy Coulson, managing everything even from far away. In the Red Room, you are completely alone, you are given your objective and that’s all, no back up or a chance to call for help, you better get it done and come back in one piece, or they’ll break you into a thousand little pieces themselves.

An agent is infiltrating a medical compound dealing with mental disorders. He has another agent with him not far, undercover as well. Backup. There’s also a van standing by to pick them up with the target. Well, quite honestly, the reason there are so many people involved is her. They wouldn’t really need the on-base support if she could just leave the grounds and be on the van herself. Or really, if she could go do it herself.

So here they are, everyone with a head piece listening in except herself, too dangerous if the good doctor has been cautious and scattered triggers around himself. She’s looking at the screens transmitting from the agent’s hidden camera in his glasses, showing them every step of the way. She’s the only one that could have done this mission, she knows the compound, knows the codes around and the hidden passage and how to get to in undetected, how to get to the doctor’s hidden files, and how to get the doctor himself. And although she prepared the agent as much as possible before he left, it’s still tricky, and the doctor is smart, so she’s still guiding him through it. She’s talking to Clint, and Clint is talking back to the agent, while Coulson is watching her intensely, not only to watch make sure nothing starts triggering her on the screens, but she’s sure he’s also analyzing her to death. Everyone is.

They don’t trust her, she knows that, wasn’t really expecting them to, but it’s still uncomfortable, being scrutinized by absolutely everyone who even sees her walk by. She knows she deserves it, knows like they do that she doesn’t belong, because the atrocities that she has committed can’t just be put aside. But she’ll fight to belong, she’ll do it, she’ll clean her hands of blood and be someone worthy of-. Well, she can’t really remember why that was so important. But she knows it is, and with Yasha, she’d learned to follow her instinct.

If she can’t earn their trust, she’ll at least show them why they kept her around. She knows they need her. But Clint trusts her, as does Fury, and really, that’s already so much more than she deserves.

The mission’s going well so far, he’s past two check points, and one of the doctor’s traps, and still undetected and seen as just another janitor, mopping right and left. She sees a small dot on the door frame to his right, and tells Clint to tell him to step closer to the opposite wall. He does so and goes undetected by the next camera. She guides him to a hall hidden away from prying eyes and towards the doctor’s hideout. After that, there’s a strange combination of colors in the pictures lining the hall and there’s a strange pressure in the back of her skull. She can’t feel her legs, the tip of her fingers start to tingle and her breathing slows down. Triggers. She can’t look away.

“Agent Barton.” The tone in Coulson’s voice is calm yet urging so Clint looks away from the screen to see her and one look is enough, he stands directly in front of her and blocks her view. She still feels the pressure, but it couldn’t progress past that. “Hey Natasha, look at me, focus on me.” He tells her gently and she tries to look up at him but her eyes won’t answer her, they just continue to stare at a point in his neck, unmoving.

“Nat.” His hands are on her shoulders now, a pressure she uses to ground herself. “Nat, look at me.” He bends his head down and looks her straight in the eyes. That pulls her back hard and she sways, but he steadies her with strong arms. “You’re all right.” She’s shivering, little shocks as the hold on her mind and senses recedes and her legs slowly feel the ground underneath her. He holds her tighter, “You’re safe.”

It takes another second but she finally comes back to herself, and he lets her go so she can find her own ground. He’s still looking at her and blocking her view. She can focus completely now and the sounds around her rush back. Clint is watching her worriedly and urgently, and there’s no time, an agent is out there walking blind. So she turns around away from the screens and Clint is back on mission mode and tells her what he can see and hear. She tells him to tell the Agent to keep going, and deactivate the sensor on the fire hydrant across from the window with a light blue line on the frame. She waits and when Clint tells her he’s done as she said, she continues giving him instructions.

After sidestepping a few more traps he finally reaches the office and the hidden compartment on the floor and removes the box of files. With those secured, they can get the doctor without the danger of him blowing up his office and all its secrets at the first signs of danger. So he follows her instructions back to the gardens of the compound without alerting any of the security the doctor put in place and he hands the box to his back up before he goes for the doctor himself in a patient’s room.

The mission is a success and they are on their way back.

The briefing will be in the afternoon shortly before they arrive with the doctor and the men in the room all leave for an early lunch. She walks back to her quarters with grace and confidence and no one thinks otherwise, except Clint, who is following close behind and knows she wants to get behind closed doors as soon as possible.

She opens her door with her thumbprint and allows Clint to come in and close the door behind them. And she just stands there, because her limbs feel like jelly but stiff at the same time, and she has a headache, a deep ache in her temples that radiates to the back of her head. Clint stands behind her, one step away, just close enough so she can feel his support but still giving her space.

She feels rattled in ways she thought she’d never have to feel again, like someone had reached in with cold fingers and swirled her mind around, around and around and she ran to the bathroom and barely got the lid of the toilet open before she puked, her chest and throat burning and she couldn't breathe as she retched and pushed the last bit of breakfast out her body and coughed and heaved and coughed again, heavily and spitting.

“Tasha?” Clint was besides her, his hand on her back rubbing soothingly, and her vision was clearer now, though her stomach was still doing summersaults and her whole body was shaking, but he was pushing her curls out of her face and it was grounding, it felt like a lifeline, his presence. She lay her head against the lid and tried to get her bearings back while he flushed the toilet and got her some water, moving around effortlessly in the cramped bathroom. Favoring vents to actual rooms will give you a skill like that, she thought in a daze.

She drank the water he offered her with small sips, and let him help her up and guide her to bed, where she proceeded to pass out, drained by the fight she withstood against her mind’s tendency to revert back to old masters. But she fought it, she was still herself, and that made her smile, triumphant. _I’m not going back._

_I don’t want to go back._ A long hall, with closed doors on each side. She stood, disoriented, the sounds muffled, as if she were underwater. The walls were white, and for a moment she thought she was back at the Bolshoi… But wait, no, she was at SHIELD. But here, she’d been here before, but, she’d gone to bed, she was sure of it, Clint, he’d helped her. She tried taking a step forward, but everything tilted, and she clenched her head in pain. 1018465195

_He was besides her, brushing her damp curls back, caressing her cheek, brushing her tears away. Natashen’ka. She was crying, she was tired and sore, holding on for dear life, holding that beautiful weight in her arms, looking down and not daring to look anywhere else, sobbing. Мы должны сделать это сейчас. She cried harder, held on tighter. Я не могу!!_

_Yasha, they’re on our tail._

_He was proud of how good her English had gotten, even if it was to convey things like this._

_What’s that? Что к чему?_

_та песня. He seemed lost for a moment, enjoying her gentle fingers in his hair, and maybe he hadn’t noticed he was humming a tune? Я не знаю. He continued to hum, and she frowned a little, wondering what it could be, but enjoyed it, smiling when he kissed her belly._

_And what’s that? He asked._

_She hummed now, and he looked at her curiously. I don’t know. She truly didn’t, but it seemed nice enough, and she continued to hum the tune she couldn’t recall ever hearing._

_Well, she likes it._

_She did, she thought, as she continued and saw her little eyes drop with sleep as she suckled and fed contently._

She screamed, curling her arms around herself she clenched her eyes shut and refused to fully wake up and screamed. No, no, please God no, no, no, it’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true!! She screamed and her mind wouldn’t stop racing, she screamed and screamed and clawed at her own skin, her nails biting into herself and NO! Please please no! She couldn’t stop shaking, she trashed on the bed and buried her hands in her hair and pulled, screaming she pulled and willed the images to disappear from her mind because no, please not this, not this!

She choked on her next scream and cried out instead, tears scaping her closed eyelids and she cried out loudly and painfully, dragging her hands down her face roughly and cried out. It was true. And the admission made her scream louder, kicking out and clenching her fists again, digging her nails into her chest and she screamed at the image in her mind, of beautiful eyes sleepy, and she wailed and cried and screamed and Clint was terrified, not daring to reach out to her and frozen on the spot, hearing and watching her and he felt tears choke him and he couldn’t even get her name past his lips. He considered calling security, maybe medical to sedate her, but he couldn’t fucking move as he watched her fall apart.

The crescent marks she was clawing into her chest were bleeding now, and he snapped into action, jumping to the bed and pulling her hands into his tight grip. “Natasha!” She trashed harder and that’s what he’d been afraid of, of making it worse. “Nat!” She pulled roughly to get away from his grip and her eyes were still tightly shut, but he needed her to see him so she’d come to her senses. “NATALIA!” He yelled in her face and she opened her eyes, wide and green and terrified, tear-stricken and wild, but she was still for a moment and that’s all he needed. “It’s Clint! It’s me! You’re safe, you’re in your room, you’re all right! You’re safe!” He rambled on, still in her face so she couldn’t focus on anything else but him and she’d stopped struggling, she was intent on his eyes and slowly in his words, and she was back, her eyes cleared and she was in the present, but that was somehow worse, because now she was back to reality and remembering whatever she’d dreamed of and she crumbled, her face scrunched up and she wailed, she closed her eyes and let out the most painful cry he’d ever heard anyone make, she cried out and took a breath and cried out again, heartbroken and raw, hot tears rolling down the sides of her face as she threw her head back and she could barely breathe with how much she was trying to let out, cries and sobs and he let go of her hands and she let them fall to her sides and just… cried.

He was shaken to his core, hearing her devastating cries and a million thoughts raced through his head, questions upon questions of what could have set this off, and finally did the only thing he could, he shifted so he could hold her and did so, as tightly as he could, biting his lower lip to stop its quivering as his own tears threatened to spill over at her pain, at the sound of her utterly breaking and sobbing and weeping and if a few of his own tears fell to her hair, well, she’d hardly notice, over her own heart wrenching cries.

 

________________________________________________________________________

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Оставайся здесь – Stay here
> 
> Нет пожалуйста – No please
> 
> Пожалуйста – Please
> 
> Больше!! – More!!
> 
> Это глупо – This is silly
> 
> это опасно – This is dangerous
> 
> Нет, если ваше лицо не показывает – Not if your face doesn’t show
> 
> Посмотри, что ты наделал! – Look what you’ve done!
> 
> Мы должны сделать это сейчас – We should do this now
> 
> Я не могу! – I can’t!
> 
> Что к чему – What is what?
> 
> та песня – That song
> 
> Я не знаю – I don’t know


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I apologize again for making you wait so long, I’ve just had so much going on, but that’s no excuse. I promise I will try to update more regularly. I can say though that the next chapter is almost done, so you won’t have to wait too long for it. 
> 
> Also, I’ve added some fan-art to previous chapters as well. I just wanted to portray the feelings and ups and downs of a chapter in yet another way. Please let me know what you think, your feedback is greatly appreciated.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed shaking, her hands trembling, and she was still having trouble getting her breathing under control. Clint had brought her some water again, and she’d managed to drink half of it in small sips. He hadn’t questioned her, just held her and helped her sit up, helped her get herself back together. She didn’t think that was possible.

_Where?_

Her mind screamed, and she shuddered out a small sob, screaming _1018465195_. Natasha clenched her eyes shut, resting her elbows on her knees and burying her hands in her hair. What did that mean!!?? What did that have to do with anything? With her tiny nose and tiny lips and beautiful eyes?

She let out another sob, her body shaking with it.

Her head hurt so much. But the pressure in her chest was unbearable. _When?_ A baby. No… shit. A _baby_. So tiny, so little in her arms. She’d seen her, clear as day, and suddenly, everything made sense, and everything fell apart. She chocked on a sob, her hands covering her face, feeling it hot and wet with tears. She’d cried then too, when he’d told her that it was time, and she’d cried no, that she couldn’t let go.

 It all made sense, but _How_? They’d cut away any hope of that, ripped it away from her, she could remember that clearly, even if it was long ago. So, so long ago. _The ceremony is necessary_. They’d hardened her into marble and that day had been when the last of her humanity had been snuffed away.   

_I have no place in the world_. It hadn’t exactly been a dream of hers, there wasn’t much time or hope for dreams growing up, but it was there in the back of her mind sometimes, when watching the films or walking outside on missions. So, when they’d told her what the ‘ceremony’ was really about, she’d freaked out, tried to get out of it, tried to fail, but it was futile. Afterwards, she’d felt dead inside.

The memory was making her trembling get worse. What if… what if it wasn’t real? Maybe she’d gone crazy? Making things up? Or… a planted memory? The idea of her maybe not being real after all made her crying start anew. Her little nose, her rosebud lips, so tiny, she could still see it in her mind’s eye, and her eyes, were bright and beautiful. She was so perfect, maybe she wasn’t real?  

“Nat.” He called her name softly, kneeling in front of her and gently placing his hand on her arms, trying to get her to look at him and she relented, pulling her hands away from her face and looking at him for the first time since he’d woken her up from her little episode earlier. He probably didn’t want her to go into another one, if the concerned look on his face said anything. “Nat, what’s wrong?”

She felt more tears spring to her eyes and her throat choke up even more at his worried question. She had no idea how to answer. What was wrong? Maybe… maybe, she had a baby. She cried out, her hands going to her face again but Clint held on fast to her arms, taking her face in his hands and clearing her tears away. “Hey, hey…” He was talking to her softly. “Nat, come one, you’re scaring me.”

She didn’t know what to say to him. What if it wasn’t real? She didn’t want to even voice her thoughts. And if by some miracle, it was real, then…

And suddenly it was worse. Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t breathe. Where is she!? If… if she was real… then… where was she!? She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe. Where- where… “Nat, breathe.” Where was she? Why… why? If they´d run away, what happened? They were tortured when they were caught. Where was she? “Nat!”

He shook her now, hands on her upper arms insistent and tight, trying to ground her, bring her back down from another panic attack, but she wasn’t even breathing from shock, and not for the first time that day did he consider calling in someone to sedate her. “Nat! Come on!” He cupped her face in his hands again and got right in her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes, it’d seem to work the last two times. And thank God, it worked again. She breathed in as if she was afraid the room would run out of air, and he started counting with her. “Nat, come on, follow me, breathe in… 1…2…3… out… 4…5…6…” and continued breathing in and out loudly for several minutes, until she was breathing normally again, focused and calm, or as calm as he could get her, she was still shaking like a leaf.

She was feeling better, feeling a little more grounded, breathing calmly for the first time since she saw that moment in her head. And it was clearing her head, the breathing, and Clint’s voice, soothing her. She could see him now, really see him, he wasn’t just a blur in her panic anymore, he was right in front of her, controlling his breathing so she’d copy him.

Thoughts in her head cleared and stopped having that edgy quality panic usually gave them. When she closed her eyes again and saw her, in her arms, feeding and falling asleep, she felt pain in her chest tear through her, but she held herself together. It all made sense now. “It makes sense.” Why she was here, what had brought her here, why she was fighting so hard to be better, why she never felt at ease, why the pressure in her chest felt like a ticking time bomb, what her arms and her chest ached with emptiness, why she felt like she was running out of time, like something was missing.

“What does?” Clint asked her softly, placing his hand back down to her arms, a gentle support, but insistent on some answers now too. 

“Why I’m here.” She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hands. Clint pulled his hands away but stayed kneeling in front of her, concern still etched to his face. She passed her hands through her hair, rolling her shoulders back and making a show of straightening up and pulling herself together a bit, now suddenly very self-conscious of the state he’d seen her in, of how he’d had to calm her down and she felt her cheeks try to heat up but she pushed it down. She cleared her throat and looked at him a bit expectantly, but he didn’t move away. He knew she was starting to realize what had happened and was probably feeling embarrassed but he really didn’t want her to feel like she had to be ashamed for breaking down, he was quite surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.  

“It’s ok to need help once in a while, you know.” She looked away when he told her this and her hands twitched, as if wanting to clench or move but she controlled her reaction. “We´re only human.” He hated that he had to remind her of this so often, but he was only thankful that she was getting more and more comfortable with the admission.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing her eyes on the inhale and opening them on the exhale, and repeated softly. “We´re human.”

“Yes.” He reaffirmed, standing up and taking a seat next to her now that he knew she wouldn’t hide or pull away from him. “Are you all right?”

She didn’t look him in the eye, instead fought her instinct to _fight_ her instinct and finally allowed her hands to wring together a bit anxiously. “No.” She admitted softly.

He nodded, accepting her short answer. He wouldn’t push her, he just needed her to know he was there for her, that she wasn’t alone, and never would be again, if he could help it.

“I remembered something.” She’d told him before, she could remember some things while asleep, but she’d never given him details, just that it wasn’t always pretty. He suddenly felt a pull of dread.

“Do you always remember things like that?”

“No, it’s never been that bad.” She was quick to reassure him. “This was something… bigger, different, maybe something I already knew, deep down, but didn’t want to believe could be true.” Her voice was hoarse, not just that sweet quality she usually had, but really deep and hoarse from crying and she finished off the glass of water still on the floor from when he’d brought her some earlier. “I didn’t want to believe it.” She confessed. “Now, I’m… scared.”   

“Of what?”

She turned to look at him, open and vulnerable. “I’m… still figuring that out.”

He nodded slowly and placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in and she tensed for a moment, before she swallowed hard and relaxed, again fighting her trained instincts that fought her natural instincts. She sank into him, tucking her head under his chin and let him swop his hand up and down her arms in a calming gesture that at first made her tense up again, but soon started its calming effect.

She thought long and hard, about the implications of it all. If it wasn’t real, then she needed to find out where it was from, why they would have planted that memory. There was no mission even remotely connected to a cover like that that she could remember. But in all honesty, she was quickly discarding that idea. It just felt… true. To her bones, she could feel it. It sounded tacky, but really, she could feel it in her heart, in her womb, in her breast. Empty.

Then she needed to find out more information, where she could be, when this all happened, how come she showed no physical signs of it? Or if they knew, if the red room or department X knew, if she was in a lab somewhere, or if by some miracle, she was safe. If by some miracle, she was real. She wanted to cry again. She didn’t even know when she’d been born, or where. Yasha was her father, she was sure of that, they’d run away, and she’d wondered over and over again what had possessed them to do such a thing. Well, this was a pretty reasonable answer. Were they torturing them just because they’d run away, or because they wanted to know where the baby was?

Also, she’d managed to get herself to a safe place, and not just any place, but the biggest peace-keeping organization in the planet. Surely she’d planned this more than she’d realized. With the resources here she could find her, find out if she was safe.

Had they gotten her someplace safe? Maybe. She really hoped they had. She tried to imagine her, safe and sound somewhere far away from the life her parents had. Maybe with a family and a home, real sisters that actually cared. A mom. Natasha clenched her eyes shut at the thought. Maybe she had a mom, a mama that loved her and held her and it hurt to think it, but oh, how she hoped it was true. She’d give the world to find out that she was safe and loved, no matter the cost.

Maybe she had a mom.

She hoped she had a mom.

Clint’s arms tightened around her and she realized she was crying again, but softer now, just tears running down her cheeks. “Nat?”

“I want-” … to find her, she wanted -needed- to find her. But, could she tell Clint that? No, she quickly decided that she couldn’t. She trusted him, she did, but this seemed a bit too much. She trusted him with herself, but she wasn’t sure about… Yasha, and their baby. Their baby. It was still so surreal.

Plus, she wasn’t stupid. She knew he had to report back to that Coulson guy on anything she could remember that could help them, anything from contacts to old missions to locations and so on, since day one Clint had been debriefing her. She knew he wouldn’t reveal personal details if she gave him any, but she opted for not giving him any, not wanting to cause him any trouble on having to decide on what to report and what not to, from having a dilemma between keeping her confidence or feeling as if he’d betrayed her. And this was big, so big, and she knew it was something he’d have to report, what with Yasha being a trainer.

She didn’t trust SHIELD. She trusted the people, Clint and Fury, but the organization per se, she knew they didn’t like her nor wanted her anywhere around. If it weren’t for Fury and Clint they would have gotten their wish and killed her long ago. So really, SHIELD wasn’t an option either. Which was frustrating, now that she thought about it. How was she going to use the resources available if she didn’t have access to the system?

She sighed heavily, leaning more into Clint. “I don’t know.” She almost whispered, and he just rubbed her arm again, showing her his support.

She needed a plan. First things first. Get access to the system. She grimaced, knowing it wouldn’t be that easy. After all, they weren’t the biggest organization in the planet by having an easy-to-hack system. It’s security network was second only to Stark Industries. Even if she had access to the system, she wouldn’t have any wiggle room, not yet. They would be recording her every move, monitoring her every transaction, and if she tried to work around it, it would send up red flags everywhere. It didn’t look good, and patience just didn’t seem like her trait in this particular situation.

Clint’s cell phone beeped at the same time her interphone did. And that could only mean one thing: The good doctor was here.

 

* * *

 

 

“And what are you giving him in return?”

Fury’s face was impassive, completely unreadable. She had no way of knowing if the next words out of his mouth would be the truth. It unnerved her. She’d trusted him so far, but at the moment, she wasn’t so sure.

“His life.”

She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Is that all?”

Fury gave a barely-there smile, walking closer to her. “If you are asking me if we’re going to make a deal with an evil scientist, the answer is… not yet.” Her heart beat faster, but he wasn’t done, walking around her now as she stood like a statue with her arms crossed in front of her. “These people aren’t stupid Ms. Romanoff, once they realize we’re not going to kill them and that we need them, they start milking us for all we’re worth.” He stopped for a moment in front of her, meeting her glare straight-up before he continued on his trek around her. “But we’re not stupid either. We’re never going to let him go as part of a deal, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

Partially, yes, that’s what was going through her head right now. His words were reassuring, but still, she wasn’t all too sure.  

“But the good doctor isn’t going to be too forthcoming if we treat him badly either, so, we compromise.”     

She raised an eyebrow almost to her hairline, lips pursed. “Compromise how, exactly?”

He stood in front of her again, scrutinizing her with his eye, looking down at her in her black cargo pants and combat boots, grey T-Shirt today, sporting -more proudly than she’ll ever admit- the SHIELD eagle on the sleeves. “We’ll worry about that.” She scoffed, ready to reply but he cut her off. “My priority right now is you.”

Her jaw clicked. He’d caught her off guard. He found that less amusing when it had something to do with her… ‘feeling’.

“Don’t look so surprised. We have plenty of other people on the list to go after, but we all know why he was top 3.”

Natasha looked back at him with a blank expression. “He has extensive knowledge on the-” She tried, but he was having none of it. He waved her off and walked towards his desk.

“Yeah yeah yeah.” It bothered him more than he’d like to admit. He knew that what she’d had to go through was enough to have anyone locked in a mental asylum, her doctors had given him the long list of possible disorders she might be suffering from due to her… abuse. Yet she acted so normal and businesslike and so it took moments like these to remind him that she probably wasn’t all right. Moments when he showed an inkling of care for her wellbeing and she scrunched up her face as if she didn’t understand what was happening. And hey, it wasn’t as if he was giving out hugs or anything like that. But he didn’t mind letting her know he was on her side.  She came to them for freedom and a fresh start. He’d been ready to shoot her but Barton -the pain in the ass-had reminded him that the last time he’d given someone a second chance, it had turned out pretty well. After more than three months he was convinced that she was turning for good, ashamed of her crimes and looking to atone for her sins. Though he knew there was something else, something he just couldn’t quite put his finger on, but something that had driven her to better herself. Whatever it was, she hid it very well, although a little less today, for some reason.

He sighed, rounding his desk and sitting down on the leather chair. Either way he hoped that getting some of her own mind back would help her personal recovery, not just her ability to perform in the field. “Doctor [Pchelintsov](http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Grigor_Ivanovich_Pchelintsov_\(Earth-616\)) is down in the labs explaining to the medical staff the procedures to program and reverse main triggers. I suggest you go down there and listen in, see if you’re ready to be hooked up to machines again.”

Her right eyebrow rose slightly, arms still crossed in front of her. “Just like that?” She couldn’t believe that the man was simply giving all the information away, she wanted to know what they were giving him in return.

Fury only shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Like I said, you let us worry about that, and you, worry about…” a pause, looking intently into her eyes with his only good one. “You.”

It wasn’t menacing or dismissive, it was with concern, and again he watched that blank and perplexed expression cross her face before she schooled her features. He resisted the urge to sigh again and continued. “Although he’s holding out on us on the ‘memory’ part of his research until further notice.” He saw the wheels turning in her head and he cut her off short. “And I don’t think you can do much about it right now either.” She looked at him with an incredulous expression, mouth open to protest but again, he was faster. “As much as we hate it, we have to admit to the fact that this one man has your mind, and consequently, your life, in his hands.” She fumed, and he felt a pang of guilt in his gut. “So it might not be a good idea to go pissing him off.”

She held herself tight as a rubber band ready to snap but relented. He was right. And yes, she hated it, but he was right. The man was smart and she was still learning how much and how good of a man he actually was, because even if he wouldn’t tell her what deal he’s struck with the scientist, she felt oddly at peace with it. The Red Room had trained her to trust her instincts, but the instincts they’d taught her to have. Yasha had taught her that there was more to her instinct than that and right now they were calm, like when she was with Clint or dreaming of Yasha.

She startled slightly. She’d remembered something else about Yasha. And Fury was looking at her with a curious expression.

“I’ll let you know how it goes.” She said quickly and left his office, leaving him to shake his head lightly and get back to work.

 

* * *

 

“It’ll be all right.” Clint said as he jumped over a fallen branch.

They were walking around the grounds again, having left the gardens a bit way back and now treading through the trees to get to the river on the other side of the little forest surrounding the Triskelion. She was simply walking and slowly moving over the difficult patches, but Clint… well, one thing she’d learned about Clint in the last few months was that he had a lot of energy, a lot. He burned it off at the gym or climbing the vents in the building usually, but today he’d been busy, what with the mission this morning and then her little break down this afternoon (which she was glad he hadn’t brought up) and then overseeing the doctor’s arrival, and they’d just had sandwiches in the cafeteria. She’d had a bottle of water and Clint had had a damn juice box, slurping on the straw at the end and everything, he was clearly restless and so he was now jumping over holes and stumps and trying to stay calm for her benefit, but not really succeeding. She was getting used to it, to him and his eccentricities. They were walking in the dark towards the water and he was jumping around like a damn squirrel. But she wasn’t about to say anything, nope, he put up with a lot of crap from her, she owed him the same courtesy.

“I guess.”

Usually they’d said their good byes by now, it was really late. She was too wound up, it had been a long day and after hearing all [Pchelintsov](http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Grigor_Ivanovich_Pchelintsov_\(Earth-616\)) had to say it was worse, so he’d stayed a bit longer. She’d insisted she was fine, that she could eat dinner herself, but he didn’t trust her, knew her for skipping meals and she hadn’t had lunch, so he’d walked her to the cafeteria. She had no idea where he went off to everyday, where he lived or anything, but she didn’t pry. He hadn’t told her too much about his current life, opting to talk about his past. She guessed it was more relatable to discuss that time in his past than his present life which she probably wouldn’t get. She wondered if he didn’t talk about it because maybe she’d learn soon enough what became of people who switched sides. She had no idea of it was all good, but he seemed pretty happy with his life. He’d said he was glad he’d deiced to fight for the good guys, and wouldn’t have what he had now otherwise. He looked so happy, if she’d had to guess, she’d say he had someone he loved, someone he went home to every night, or at least when he wasn’t out on missions. She wondered if she could ever have that look on her face, she wondered if whatever he was doing with his life now was something she would have in her future. Typically, she shut that thought down pretty quick, she felt a hard stab of guilt and scoffed at herself for thinking she would ever be worth anything like that.

Today though, it was somehow worse. She gulped and pressed a hand to her chest, the pain that shot through her was much worse, with the fresh image of her baby in her mind, she felt her heart speed up and her breath catch. Everything made sense.

“Nat?” Clint turned around when he realized she’d stopped following and saw her standing there in between two trees with a hand on her chest, barely illuminated by the moon and the bright lights of the building. “Nat?” He walked back towards her and tried getting her attention, but she was staring straight ahead again, that horrible far-away look back in her eyes and he remembered how her eyes looked filled with tears and red with pain this morning and he never wanted to see that again, never in his life. “Nat?” He placed his hands on her forearms and shook her a little, trying to get her attention.

Everything made sense, everything, everything made sense… little eyes dropping with sleep as she suckled and fed contently… it all, it all made sense... she needed to be better, someone worthy. It had been so difficult to remember why, why, _why_ was she doing this? Risking her life like this? Not only could Clint have killed her instead of bringing her in, they Red Room could have caught her before that, but she’d ran, she’d ran and ran and she wanted to be better but she couldn’t remember what had made her think that, why she’d changed her mind, couldn’t remember why it was so important. There had just been this… driving force in her veins, and she just knew she couldn’t be that person anymore and now she knew why. Rosebud mouth and button nose and therein lay the answer to every question she had ever asked herself or would ever ask again.

“Nat, come on, don’t do this to me again.”  

She looked up at him and he was all blurry, but oh wait, those were the tears in her eyes and damn it! How many times was she going to do this in front of Clint? The poor man was freaking out.  

“Hey, it’s ok, it’s all right.” He spoke softly as more tears rushed unbidden from her eyes. He could tell now she was ashamed of crying again and she brought one hand up to cover herself while she tried to pull herself together. He slowly led her to sit down on the ground, leaning against a tree and crouched in front of her, holding her left hand with both of his when she lifted her right to cover her eyes. “Nat, it’s all right if you need to cry, you know I’m never gonna judge you or anything. I cry a lot too, I’m actually just waiting for you to get a little more settled in before I start crying all over you too.” That got a chuckle out of her and he smiled, taking her other hand too so she wasn’t hiding. “I’m a mess too, it kinda comes with the territory.” 

She sniffled and chuckled again, looking up at him. “Yeah?”  

Clint nodded. “Yeah, you can’t live the life you’ve lived and not expect to have some side effects or carry-over.” He rubbed his thumbs over her hands in what he hopped was a soothing gesture. “I mean, you’ve been doing so well these last few months, something was bound to come up, it always does. But you’ll work through this stuff, one thing at a time.” She sniffled again and swallowed, nodding. “Was it… was it the remembering thing or the procedure thing?”  

She took a deep breath, wondering what to say. She didn’t want to lie, but maybe he’d want to know more? But she didn’t want to lie, not to Clint. “The remembering thing.” Her voice sounded small and broken. She hated it.  

“Wanna talk about it?”  

She thought about it for a second, but cleared her throat and answered no. She’d already decided that letting him in on this wasn’t an option right now. Maybe one day. Maybe when she found her, if she found her. But what if she did? She could never hope to get close to her, never in a million years. Not only did she probably have a home of her own, but she could never taint her with this horrible life she led. Yes, she was here to be different, to change, to… _redeem herself_ … but God, what was she hoping to accomplish? There were some crimes that she couldn’t even remember committing! No, she couldn’t do that to her, she couldn’t walk into her life and ruin it. She couldn’t even imagine it, with all the blood in her hands, all the blood she’d spilled, all the blood she could still see… no, no, how could she let her baby see that? She was better off, she hoped so badly that she had a mom, a real mom, someone who could actually be her mom. Not this monster who’d killed just to follow orders, just to save her own life. No. But she’d find her, she’d find her and make sure she was all right. But that was it.  

Mind made up, her tears stopped and Clint was still watching her intently, still rubbing her hands softly, supporting her silently. She met his eyes, giving him a small smile. “So, you’re a mess too?”  

Clint chuckled, seeing her attempt at changing the subject and letting her, knowing she really didn’t want to talk about what she remembered this afternoon. “Yeah, took me years to work through most of it and stop being beaten by it all, like PTSD and all that crap. Still got some stuff, I mean, it’ll never go away, but it does get better.” He said the words as if they were a promise. “Specially the self-deprecating crap.” Her eyes snapped up and stared at him wide-eyes. He looked back at her with a knowing look. “It’s the worst, and the hardest to work through.” Her lips parted in almost shock and he tried to lighten the mood a little, knowing he hit a sore spot. “I still put a dollar in the jar whenever I think about myself that way.”   

She looked down, no wanting to meet his gaze, staring at their hands now. She loved how he held her hands, how… nice it felt. It was so different, this show of affection. Usually she touched a man’s hand to show interest or rub on some drug or powder that would knock him unconscious or something. Or they would touch her hands to show dominance or lust or to pull her someplace… Either way it wasn’t ideal. But the way Clint held her hands, it was so caring, so sweet. And she didn’t have that feeling of him doing it because he wanted something out of her. He seemed to genially do it because he cared. She could even say she didn’t feel any underlined want or lust. He just never looked or talked to her that way. She knew it meant he cared about her as a friend, for real, no underlined agenda… and that simply baffled her. What had she done to deserve something like this?  

Which brought her to what she’d been trying _not_ to think about. Self-deprecating crap. Was it really just crap?  She doubted it… It wasn’t crap when it was true. “Yeah.” She whispered to herself and kept avoiding his eyes.  

“Yeah.” Clint whispered back, knowing it was useless to get into it now. It was all a bit too fresh for her. She needed to get out and do some good, hands on, not just research and giving out details and information. He knew how that felt, and knew that he could get into it with her more once she got to kill some of the bastards herself. Which brought him to another topic, the one they’d been out here discussing to begin with. “Are you really ok with everything tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath. No, she wasn’t, not really. The procedure the doctor had described to the medics while she listened and watched through one-way glass sounded a lot like being back in the Red Room in the labs being programmed for her next assignment, or being little and having the first triggers programmed in and tested, and being strapped down to damn tables and chairs and she closed her eyes, trying to push away the images. “Maybe.” 

“I’ll go with you if you want.”  

Natasha shook her head, opening her eyes and looking at him with a determined look in her eyes. “I know I can do this.” 

“I have no doubt about it, but you don’t have to do it alone.”  

She swallowed hard and looked to the side. She felt so vulnerable, and yet so open when she was with him. He could see right through her somehow, and she found she could barely keep her walls up around him. He was just there, always, not letting her go through this alone and she didn’t know what she would do without him. So tomorrow, when she had to undergo that procedure, where she knew she might freak, yeah, she might really want him close by.  

“Maybe just be outside?” Her voice sounded so small asking, but she felt it was ok, because he’d never ridiculed her for it.  

“Deal. Now let’s head back inside, it’s starting to snow and I can’t feel my toes.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Russian this time. Please let me know what you think of the chapter and if you’d like more fan-art in the coming chapters. Thank you for your feedback!


	6. Chapter 5

Hello everyone, I know I have been gone for a while, and I do apologize, but things have been kind of weird and hectic and rough in my life. But I finally have a computer again so yay, I can write again. And I guess that’s the only thing that matters. I hope you’re still interested in this story, I’ve never forgotten about it, I still have it all in my head and in notebooks, and finally I can write it down and show you. This chapter was written a bit hastily because I was not only excited to be writing again but also because I was so eager to give you an update. But rest assured, it gets better from here on out.

 

* * *

 

 

 _She was cold, her feet were freezing, and looking down she noticed polished wood under her bare feet._ I’ve been here before _, was her first thought. And not just physically, but… somehow... this moment, she’d just been in it before. De ja vu._ Where am I? _A long hall, with closed doors on each side. White walls, and she expected to hear music, piano as she practiced, but no, she wasn’t at the Bolshoi, of that she was sure. She took a step forward and everything started to spin. Oh, she was dreaming. She ignored the off-kilter feeling and ran._

_Running… always running it seemed._

_First through a long hall, almost endless. A flash of light and she was running through tall grass, a hand clasped tightly in her own. She blinked and she was running though a market place. And then asquare, small but crowded, warm weather getting colder as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Darkernow and she was turning corners and running as fast as her legs and body would carry her. But she was so tired, out of breath but she kept running. She didn’t want a fight, she’d done everything possible to avoid one for months now and she just couldn’t anymore, she was too weak, tired, so tired and everything hurt and she couldn’t risk a confrontation. She threw them off her trail soon enough and shot down another, one still hot on her heels, and she had a feeling she knew who it was. She tried to run faster and spots were starting to appear in the corners of her vision, but she was expertly cornered soon enough._

_She panted and tried to catch her breath as quietly as possible, a hand on her aching back. Her sister looked down at her with wide eyes - Natalya had always been the shorter of the lot, but she’d never let that stop her.Yelena’s ice blue eyeswere incredulous, the gun pointing down to the floor now instead of at her head like a few seconds ago. She’d never seen Yelena do that, lower her gun from a target. “What have you done?”Her voice was a disbelieving whisper._

_She didn’t want to kill Yelena. She’d never been an ally, but not exactly an enemy either. Not like the other girls who saw her as a threat and tried to either outright kill her or outdo her in missions, which consequently got them killed just as well. No, Yelena stayed out of the way and tried to survive, and had somehow succeeded so far. By following orders and working hard, she’d made it this far and the Red Room’s indoctrination on competitiveness had somehow rolled off her. Still though, if she were ordered to kill her, she would do so without blinking. She’d been ready to do so, a moment ago, she’d seen in it in her eyes, she knew she couldn’t beat Natalya in a fight, but she’d stopped upon seeing her bulging mid-section._

_“Is this real?” Yelena’s voice was still in a whisper, shock all over her features._

_Natalya could only look intently at her, tracing her every move and trying to come up with an escape plan. It didn’t look good. She’d run out of ammo a couple of blocks away, thought she still held the gun tight in her hand. But Yelena was smart and knew how to count, she knew Natalya didn’t have any bullets left. She couldn’t fight, not exactly, there wasn’t really a way to protect her belly in a fight. Stalling might be her only chance, wait and hope against hope that Yasha would make it to her in time. So she stood, watching as Yelena processed the image of a blond Natalya,black leggingsonly to her knees, white trainers anda grey sweat shirt stretched to its seams over her round belly. She fit perfectly with the mass really, by the square they were walking through to get to their next stop._

_Yelena couldn’t look away. If it weren’t for Natalya’s blue eyes, the same hardened blue eyes she’d seen since she was 7 years old, she would have thought she had the wrong person. “How is this possible?”_

_Natalya didn’t answer, only stared at Yelena with a passive and calm façade, relaxed shoulders and posture. Well, as much as she could, with the heavy weight in her middle. She still had the gun in a tight grip, knowing that at the very least she could head-but her with it if the opportunity arose._

_Yelena continued to stare, and Natalya stared back, unwavering, but it wasn’t long until Yelena came to her senses and lifted the gun again, if only slightly, pointing at her knees now instead of the ground. “I don’t know what’s happening, but you have to come back with me.”_

_“No.” Her answer was firm and left no room for discussion, which was probably contradicting to the ‘stalling’ plan, but the thought alone sent shivers down her spine._

_Yelena shook her head. “You’re not safe out here, you know the West has been infiltrating cities like these. If they find out who you are, they’ll stop at nothing to get you.” Her eyes drifted down, still in awe. “Specially with a prize like that.”_

_Natalya shook her head. Yelena was still just a puppet who believed everything they told her, she refused to see the horrors of the Red Room, preferring to stay in blissful denial. “They’ll take her, they’ll take her and kill her soul.” Natalya’s hands shook now with the thought. “They’ll torture her and train her and…” Memories flooded her mind, the med-beds, the chambers, the restrains, the knives and whips, Madam, her dead sisters, Ivan. “And turn her into one of us.”_

_Yelena looked earnestly into her eyes, as if the world was a beautiful white and Natalya was painting it red. “Why do you say that as if it’s a bad thing?”_

_“Stop pretending it’s a GOOD THING!!” Her cry was half emotion, half hoping she was giving Yasha a signal, hoping he was close by._

_“Natalya, come on, stop your theatrics, you know that child will be raised right, to serve the mother land, to fight for-”_

_“No!” Her voice shook with barely restrained anger. No. That would never happen, never, her child would never suffer her fate. “No, Yelena, no. Stop, stop pretending. Stop saying it’s all right, it’s not! We’re human beings! They have no right!” She never thought she’d have the chance to voice her new thoughts to any of her sisters, to try and convince them of what she had found out to be true. The response was pretty much what she expected. A blank, confused look._

_“Natalya, we serve the mother land.” Yelena tried again, as if speaking to a small child, wondering what her sister had been through outside of their home for so long, what with an impossible pregnant stomach and strange, confused thoughts._

_“Yelena,” Natalya stepped closer, suddenly desperate to make her see, make her understand, save her, like Yasha and her had saved each other. “The things they do, they’re just not right.” Yelena continued to point the gun at her knees, but she wasn’t gripping it as tightly, allowing Natalya’s proximity, eyes wide, trained on her sister. “The things they’ve done, the pain we’ve felt, we shouldn’t have felt that, ever.” Natalya placed the hand not holding the gun on her sister’s shoulder, squeezing lightly, trying to make her see, not even planning an attack now that she was so close, just wanting to make her see. “We were justchildren, they had no right to touch us.”_

_Yelena’s eyes harden, her posture stiffening. “It was part of the training Natalya, you know that! All of it was!”_

_She shook her head, softening her hand on her shoulder, eyes showing as much emotion as she could. “No, Yelena, it wasn’t, you know that.”_

_Yelena shook her head, refusing to even acknowledge the possibility, her carefully constructed fantasy of righteousness being challenged for the very first time. But deep down she knew, she knew, which is why it was all crumbling so fast. So she denied it with a passion. “Nataly stop. Your baby will be safe with Madam, she will take care of her like she always took care of us, she will-”_

_“No-”_

_“Natalya, listen,”_

_“No.”_

_“You know that’s just not true, you know they took us in when-”_

_“We would have been better off in the orphanages, on the streets!”_

_“How can you say that! After everything they’ve done for-”_

_“To! To! Yelena, everything they’ve done TO us!”_

_“Natalya Stop! Stop this nonsense! You have to come home! Look at you! You need hel-”_

_The shot that ran out through the air was immediately followed by a red hot spray of blood across her face as Yelena crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. Natalya closed her eyes, her heart clenching in her chest, a subtle pain twisting inside. For a split second she wondered if something was wrong with her baby again, but no, it was deep inside, it was a feeling. Pain, because her sister was gone, and she hadn’t been able to help her. That hurt, and she hadn’t known she’d cared that much. But then again, there were many things she’d been discovering about her self lately._

_Yasha came up beside her quickly, gun still held tight in his grip, and she opened her eyes to meet his. His were worried, a blue-grey swirl of emotions, a frown as he looked at her and when he reached up to cup her face and stroke her cheek with his thumb, she realized why. A tear had run down her face. That was new too._

She woke up with a start, as she often did, eyes opening wide to focus on the ceiling above. No tears or screams this time for a change. Maybe she’d exhausted herself enough, or maybe she hadn’t slept deep enough the second time around.

She turned to the clock on the nightstand and saw that her internal clock had effectively woken her up with enough time to shower and get some breakfast before heading down to the labs. No time to ponder on the new memory running through her mind, on her fallen sisters, all gone now, and they never got to see the world for what it was, the good or the bad. Nothing but what they were taught, and even the most vicious couldn’t be blamed for her actions.

Natalya closed her eyes and gave herself 60 seconds. 60 seconds to remember them, to mourn them, to feel for them. 60 seconds to imagine away the harsh reality that had been and see only their sweet faces. Even the ones that had tried to plot her death when she’d been making her way to the top. They were the ones that had suffered the most under the Red Room, to have become so hardened. 60 seconds and she opened her eyes with a bit of a sting behind them. Not enough to cry, but enough to know she had cared for them, one way or another. Every single one of them.

It wasn’t their fault.

She sighed and sat up, peering over the bed to see Clint asleep on the floor, mouth open in soft snores and drooling, and her lips tipped ever so slightly at the ridiculous sight, before she got a hold of herself and called on his name to wake him up. The next half hour taught her how difficult of a feat that was.

After they got back from their walk last night, he’d insisted he had a lot of paperwork to do and she could sleep while he worked on them on her desk. She’d known he was just using pretexts to watch over her sleep, she’d obviously scared him that afternoon, and she’d let him, and had been glad for it a few hours later when she’d woken up screaming, her body burning from phantom shocks and tiny rose bud lips suckling on her breast. He’d calmed her down, breathing in and out and she’d fallen back asleep after a while, and it seemed he’d succumbed at some point as well, with her extra pillow under his head and his jacket over him. Good thing she slept with the heater on full blast. She hated the cold, reminded her of too many bad things.

She couldn’t help the warm feeling in her chest at his care for her, looking after her sleep and staying close by. She didn’t know why he did it, why he wanted to, knew she didn’t deserve it and shouldn’t need it. But she was glad that he was here anyway.

Back to waking him up though, she called on his name and he snorted and closed his mouth, rolling over to the other side and settling again, snoring once more. Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. Was he serious?

She called him again, louder and firmer. He didn’t rouse at all this time and continued snoring, louder. She frowned and hesitated. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to wake him? Was that impolite? Was he upset? She _had_ kept him up last night, and who knew what time he settled in. Maybe she should let him sleep? There was still some time. Maybe it wasn’t right to bother a friend that had helped you thought the night? But they had to go soon. Maybe he’d wake up on his own?

She decided she’d shower and get ready and wait for him to wake up. So she went about her routine and dried her hair at the end, when she was already dressed and her teeth were brushed and her make up done, thinking that the noise of the hair dryer would surely wake him and that she’d now given him a little extra time to rouse by himself.

She’d thought wrong.

She exited the bathroom and was met by the same loud snores, completely unperturbed by the noise or the time passed or the fact that they had to leave in about 8 minutes if they wanted to eat breakfast before heading to the labs. She personally didn’t think she’d be able to keep anything down, but doctor’s orders, she needed to be well fed beforehand.

She scoffed at the absurdity of it. How was it possible for someone to sleep that deeply and undisturbed in their line of work? How did this man fare in combat situations and missions? It was ridiculous, she could have killed him about 10 times by now. She thought maybe he trusted her enough to let his guard down that much around her, but still.

“Clint!”

Nothing.

She thought about letting him sleep through breakfast. But no, the man was a downright terror when he was hungry.

“CLINT!”

He groaned a little and she thought he’d finally woken, but he just pulled the jacket higher and covered his head and settled again.

She huffed a determined breath and stalked over to him. To hell with never forcefully rousing a trained operative, a lesson taught since she could remember because you never knew how someone could react. But this was just absurd.

She bent over slightly and pulled the jacket away from him, but again, he groaned and even rolled over onto his belly, ready to settle once more and continue sleeping. He was showing her his back for heaven’s sake! How had this man survived this long!?

She’d had enough and that ugly temper she hardly ever showed reared its ugly head and she grabbed a tight hold of his arm and yanked. “CLINT!”

He snorted and blearily opened his eyes. “Wha-? What?” He blinked, trying to understand his surroundings.“-m awake, what’s….?” He tried to roll onto his back but his arms and legs weren’t keeping up with the whole being awake thingeither. He blinked again, groggily. “…mm awake.” He assured in a hoarse, sleepy voice.   

 

* * *

 

 

They’d asked her if she would like to lay downbut she said no. She felt a bit more in control if she could quickly spring to her feet. Although she knew it was useless. If they decided to use the triggers against her it didn’t matter if she was sitting or laying down, she’d be unable to protect herself.

She slowly sat down watching the doctors move around her getting everything ready. She took a deep, steady breath and tried to calm herself. She did it slowly and they didn’t notice her. She was glad for it, she couldn’t let them see how much this was scaring her. She hated it, hated being scared but she knew it was just PTSD, perfectly normal reaction, Clint had told her so last night, he’d said it was normal to be nervous about doctors and labs after spending most of her life prodded and basically tortured by doctors in labs. She tried to focus on the night before to get her mind off it. Walking and breathing in the cold, the safety in their steps, the sound of the rushing wind, and right now she could her the machines turning on, so she thought about the sunrise, she hadn’t been up early enough to see it this morning, and a doctor was typing and distracting herself wasn’t working anymore. Fury’s eyepatch, the man looked like a damn pirate, yet the bald head and all the leather gave him an aura of fear and respect and the woman doctor was putting the jell-glue thing on the pasties that went on her head and- Fuck. 

She hid the shaking of her hands pretty well, and her breathing was completely under control. Inside though, she was falling apart. She was terrified, scared out of her mind, and she tried to push the anxiety down and run the mantra though her head that she was in the right place, that she was in safe hands, that Fury and Clint were outside looking in and so these doctors couldn’t be tying anything funny. Her heart hammered almost uncontrollably and she fought to slow herself down, knowing that soon they’d attach the monitors to her and her worry would be for the world to see. But her stomach was rolling. What if they took it all away? She’d made progress, she knew that, she could remember so much now. And her baby, she could remember her baby, she just did, just yesterday afternoon, and now thinking about it, she’d been loud and maybe they’d heard her break down, maybe they knew? Now here they were, and her mind raced. What if it was all a trick? Maybe they’d figured it out and were going to wipe her again? Maybe they could see she was remembering things and were setting all of this up to take it away, take it all away, take her baby away, and she sprang from the chair, startling the doctors who were just about to attach the wires on her head. 

They stared at her, and she realized her breathing had picked up against her will and she stood in the middle of the lab with wide eyes trying to look completely normal, as normal as she could while standing near the IV pole, ready to swing it at anyone who came to force her down on the chair. Which she knew wasn’t going to happen. PTSD, that was all it was, it was completely normal, but shit, that wasn’t helping at all right now, knowing what it was didn’t take the effect away. She couldn’t quite separate the reality from what her panic was telling her. What the Fuck was happening to her? Why was she so out of sorts lately? Why was she losing control of herself and one thing was to do it in front of Clint in the privacy of her room, but now she stood in a lab being stared at by doctors who were too afraid to approach her. But maybe it wasn’t them. What if Pchelintsov had given them the wrong procedure? The wrong information. He certainly had the brains-

“Want some company?”

She snapped her head up at the voice and tension left her body in a wave and she had the strangest urge to jump into him. Clint only smiled at her and took her hand. “Actually, to be fair, I just need your help with something. I was thinking about getting pizza for lunch and thought I could definitely eat at least 6 slices but then…” And he kept rambling and she wasn’t exactly sure what he was even talking about but he’d put her hand on his chest and she was following his breathing, and she was calm now, breathing normally and she was even sure her heartbeat had calmed down in answer to his calm beat. “…that vegetable monstrosity you like, but fine, I’ll order half and half if you eat the onions.”

She came back to herself suddenly and started up at him confused. “Huh?”

He laughed lightly and squeezed her hand before letting it go. “Wanna get some pizza after you’re done here?”

 

* * *

 

 

Fury watched intently as Natasha sat back down, Clint sitting nearby as he rambled on about pizza of all things. PTSD had been at the top of the list of possible disorders, but he hadn’t seen any indications of it until now, and judging by the way Clint handled it, it wasn’t the first time. He had to get Coulson to update him more on Romanoff. Maybe she wasn’t ready to be put in the field as soon as she got control of her own mind, as he’d originally planned. He knew she’d want to get out there and make good use of herself as soon as possible, but maybe she wasn’t ready?

On the other hand, she seemed to do remarkably well with Barton. Maybe he could team them up for a bit. Barton would hate having to work with someone else, it’ll take a lot to convince him, that’s what Phil was for. Yeah, if she came out of this ok he was going to team them up and let Coulson handle them. He had enough on his plate as it was.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yeah? What did he do then?”

She came to sharply but kept her eyes closed and breathing even as she assessed the situation around her. She was on a bed, and machines were beeping, and the smell was irrevocably of a hospital or lab and her heart leapt for a moment, but no, it was ok, there she was, she could remember her, could still remember her baby’s beautiful eyes looking up at her and feeding happily. She had a massive headache though, her temples ached and she was afraid to open her eyes. She could also hear Clint having a one-sided conversation, so she deduced he was on the phone. She decided to brace herself and open her eyes. She groaned at the white light and shut them again.

“I gotta go, I’ll see you soon.”

She tried again, taking a deep breath and opening her eyes slower this time, squinting slightly at the light and forcing herself to adjust until she could make out the medical room and Clint hovering over her. “Wakey-Wakey.”

“Mmm…” She swallowed and tried again. “What?”

“You passed out, evil science guy said it might happen, remember?”

It slowly came back to her, the doctors around her as they said the trigger, loosing complete mobility and then watching from inside herself but unable to respond, then they waited for her brain activity to settle, watching the monitors until they had the desired reading and more words, more triggers, on and on, then injections, that froze her blood and more waiting and more readings and then, nothing.

“Did it work?”

Clint shifted uncomfortably. “Only one way to find out.”

She gulped audibly, knowing he was right. She gathered her wits about herself and sat up in the hospital bed, still fully clothed and could tell she’d only been out for a couple of hours at the most. Clint sensed her intentions and frowned. “You sure you up for this right now, you just went through-”

“Clint, I need to know.” She cut him off. “I can’t live like this anymore, I need to know, I need to move on from this, I need this to work, right now.” She needed to find her baby girl, make sure she was all right, that they didn’t have her, that they’d succeeded. She needed to know and she never would if she couldn’t at least leave the building without fear of loosing herself. “Any sharp objects around?” She asked only half-joking. She wasn’t sure what her reaction would be.

Clint resigned himself and looked down, clenching his hands at his sides. He smirked devilishly. “Even if there weren’t, would I have a fighting chance?”

Natasha tried to laugh but her fingers were starting to tremble with nervousness, and real fear that she’d hurt him.

“Ready?” Without preamble, Clint opened the file that was at her bedside.

She stared for a moment.

“No.”

Clint looked up at her, eyes open and trusting, and that twisted her insides. How could they all just… Care so much? So fucking much, for a person who would’ve killed them on command just a few months ago?

“Just do it.” She looked away from his imploring eyes, gulping down the feelings that wanted to rush to the surface.

“Home.” She took a deep shuddering breath, instantly afraid and her mind flashed to all the times they’d stared her down and said that one simple word that put her in her place.

“Order.” She gulped, she was shaking in fear. She hated this, she hated this, hated how no matter what she did, how much she fought, a few words and she’d be ready to obey.

“One.” It was strange, hearing it in English, it was almost always delivered in Russian.Never had she heard it in such a gentle and concerned tone either.

“Mother.” Her hands were trembling so hard she had to lace her fingers together and grip tightly, but it didn’t help.

“Nine.” She clenched her eyes shut.

“Lighting.”

“Wrench.”

“Twenty-eight.” She was breathing fast, too fast.

“Break.”

“Fire.”

She held her breath. Her mind was racing. 

“Nat?” His concerned voice snapped her out of it and she was back in the hospital room, and she could hear her own erratic heartbeat in the monitors, beeping almost out of control. Which was wrong because once she was delivered the triggers her whole body practically shut down, it went cool and placid, like a puppet waiting for the puppeteer to star pulling the strings.

She opened her eyes and laughed. She looked at Clint, she actually turned around on he ownand looked at Clint, and laughed. He stared at her nervously, trying to decide whether he should be worried or not. She was laughing but now he realized she was half crying, and he put the folder down and gathered her shaking form in his arms, and she hugged him back, her arms wrapped tightly around him and her fingers digging into his shirt with a vengeance, holding on for dear life as she laughed and cried in relief.

He smiled, he smiled wide as he held her tight, his eyes prickling with emotion and he took a deep breath. This was good, this was very, very good. This was a weight off her shoulders and a huge step towards her recovery. He could see it so much closer now, with the way she shook in his arms with happiness and relief. Her journey had just begun but with this… With this she could reach far higher than she ever thought possible. She was meant for great things in life, he could feel it. 

“Hell of a Christmas gift, right?”

His words didn’t really register for a moment, but then they did and she let out another laugh. “We didn’t really care for that, but… yeah.” She laughed again and he held her tighter.

She clung to him, her whole body still shaking with a relief she couldn’t put into words. “It’s not a big deal where I come from.”

“Doesn’t matter, here it’s a huge deal and it’s tomorrow, but I hope you don’t mind if I give you your gift today.” She pulled away with wide eyes and stared at him incredulously as he picked up a little wrapped box from the table besides her next to the folder that she hadn’t noticed before and handed it to her. It was small, a long, black velvet box with a red bow on it. “I’m leaving tonight and I’m not going to be back until next week. ‘Cause Christmas is a big deal around here and I got some important people waiting for me at home.” She was listening but still staring at the box, afraid to tousle it and ruin whatever could be inside. “Nat?”

She looked up at his prodding tone, and stared at him with wide eyes.

Clint’s smile fell. “Please don’t tell me you’ve never gotten a gift before.”

She looked down, a little ashamed. Had she? “I- I don’t remember.” She really couldn’t remember. But she doubted it. Unless Yasha… No, it would have been too risky, for him to give her any sort of keepsake, too dangerous if anyone ever saw or found it and asked. Maybe while they were on the run though? She honestly didn’t know. All she did know was that the feeling blossoming in her heart was beautiful, she was giddy with it, with the excitement of the gesture and what could be inside it, and so touched.

Clint looked away, a twitch in his fingers and she wondered why he was suddenly mad. Had she done something wrong? Maybe she should have opened it sooner?  She did so quickly, afraid she had upset him and unwrapped the bow and opened the box, an instant smile shining on her face and she gently reached with her finger and traced the necklace, touching the delicate chain and the tiny arrow hanging from it, silver and shiny and she couldn’t stop smiling. She looked up and Clint was beaming at her, and she realized he hadn’t been mad at her, but at the implication that this was the first gift she’d ever received. She looked back down at the necklace and smiled wider. Well, she might not remember if she’d had other gifts before, but this was her first gift from her new life, and she loved it. She told him so and he looked so proud, puffed out his chest and took the necklace out of the box, and she gathered her long curls and turned slightly so he could clasp it around her neck.

“These important people that I was telling you about? They also have one of these. And I gotta go away for a few days, and I wish I could take you with me but the doctors say you need to recover for a couple more days, stay away from heavy stimulants and try to rest and relax.” She turned to face him again and touched the arrow on the hollow of her throat and smiled again. She waspart of the ‘important people’ in his life. Her hear fluttered again and she couldn’t keep the smile down. She just felt so… free.

Clint seemed to know where her mind was and smiled at her. He was glad she’d caught on, because as far as he was concerned, she was his family now too. Which is why he hated to leave her, but he really didn’t have a choice.

“I really have to go, but I need you to know that you’re gonna be all right.”

She thought about that for a minute. All right? She took a deep breath, remembering her little girl and now with the knowledge that she could soon go after her, yeah she was all right, really, for now.

“Yeah, yes, I’ll be fine.” She smiled sincerely at him and he truly felt she would be. So he spent Christmas with his important people and came back a few days later and thought he’d find her in her quarters, but instead he’s called to Coulson’s office and he finds her sitting in the chair he’d spent years making a good butt print on, but she seems comfortable so he sits next to her, and on the other side of the desk sits Coulson with a file in his hands.

Her expression is unreadable and cold and he worries for a moment, but he chalks it off as being in the presence of another agent and he’s proven correctly when they’re dismissed and just outside the office she smiles tentatively at him, but with a new fire in her eyes. They’ve just been told she has the go-ahead directly from Fury and Coulson was pleasantly surprised when he had no complaints to being paired off with her for her probationary period. They already have a mission scheduled for tonight and although she knows and fully understand that they’ll only be doing simple and low-profile gigs while they learn to trust her and her new hold of her mind, it’s still a step in the right direction and she couldn’t be happier.   

He loves the enthusiasm in her eyes and can’t help but fuel the fire. “Ready to raise a little hell?”

She gives a low, throaty laugh and Coulson just knows he’s going to be cleaning up after them for as long as this ‘partnership’ lasts.

 

* * *

 

 

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think! Next Chapter will be up next week!

 


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